Category Archives: life
Isn’t it amazing how music can capture a feeling or a point in time during your life? It can motivate, soothe, energize, create memories, create joy. I think it’s one of the most powerful things we have in our world – because it speaks to us in different ways and we tend to be very unique in what we like and how it moves us. I’m a huge music fan: I love to listen to it, obviously, but I also love going to concerts and discovering new things out there in the music world. My car is practically overrun with all my music CDs – and yes, I prefer my music experience to be a tactile one, don’t @ me. It’s important to me. “What does this have to do with CHDs?” you might be thinking. Well I want to talk to you specifically about a song that has resonated a lot with me lately.
Let me introduce you to John Mark McMillan:
This dude is an incredible musician and songwriter. You most likely know him as the guy who wrote “How He Loves,” but he has a ton of other fantastic songs. The funny thing is my discovery of his music really coincided with the beginning of my journey as a Heart Dad. I can speak to several times during Nolan’s recoveries – or just life in general – where his songs like “Holy Ghost” or “Mercury & Lightning” seem to perfectly capture my current feels/hopes/struggles. Seriously, he’s a fantastic songwriter and you need to check him out. But this isn’t just a mere shoutout as a fan, I want to focus on a song off his album Borderland, which is called “Love At The End.”
Now I’m not gonna speak for Mr. McMillan about what this song is actually about (feel free to hit me up if I’m totally off-base, man!), but I can speak to what it means to me. Specifically I want to talk about the lyrics that say, “I’m on the brink / But I found love at the end of the world.”
This album is full of amazing songs and I love this one, too, but lately that part of the song has really stuck out to me. As of this post, it’s Congenital Heart Defect Awareness Week, where I – and others like me – do our best to make the world aware of CHDs and their impact on the lives of children, adults, and parents. One of the things that comes along with CHD Week – at least for me – is a lot of trips down memory lane, which can be hard. You tend to be reminded how it felt when you found out your son would be born with half a heart, or how he looked post-surgery with his chest open, hooked up to all those tubes and wires. You remember all those struggles and how scared it all made you feel.
It feels almost like the end of the world. You face a thing that shouldn’t be: kids shouldn’t get sick, they should have surgeries, they shouldn’t be in pain. But here you are. You’re thrust into the medical word with all its bells and beeps and jargon and acronyms, you’re doing your best to make ends meet, to afford the meds, to make one more call to the insurance company. All this while life continues to move along without you – you might lose friends, might lose family, might lose opportunities. The end of the world, as you previously knew it.
John Mark McMillan’s song serves as a reminder that while we’ve seemingly hit the end of the world, and we’re scratching and clawing our way into some sense or normalcy, a tremendous amount of love lives there: your Heart Kid. I love all my kids, I’m their dad and proud of it, and I love them all equally. The amazing thing about Nolan being born, though, was that his experience seemed to unlocked some kind of other level of love that I didn’t know what there. Have you felt the same way? I hope you have! I feel like throughout this crazy, difficult journey, I feel like I’ve learned to love bigger, if that makes any sense.
That makes every hug even more epic, every accomplishment one to really celebrate, and every moment a valuable one. In spite of all the horrific things I’ve seen my son go through, I still managed to find love there, at the end of the world.
I know that this life is a hard one for us and our kids and that you’re out there doing your best – and shout out to you for that – but when it really feels like you’re about to lose it, maybe remember how you found love at the end of the world. It’ll show you that you are indeed strong, capable, and you’re not done yet. Stay strong, Heart Fam, and enjoy John Mark McMillan’s “Love At The End”:
I wake up pretty early for work – just after 5am, usually – and let’s face it, it stinks. No one likes getting up while it’s still dark out and leaving for work while it’s still dark out. For me, however, I got a little bit of perspective over the last few months while leaving for work and – if you’ve read this blog at all – you know that perspective in this journey is an important, and helpful, thing. You see, I used to just wake up, shower, get dressed, let the dog out, give Nolan his morning meds, pack my lunch, make coffee, and then head out to the car and off to work. Boom. Same thing every morning.
The last few months, though, I’ve come to give a little bit of appreciation to leaving for work while it’s still dark due to one thing: the view. While leaving for work one day I just happened to look up and – WOW – it was like the sky was darker than usual and the stars were brighter. And it was incredibly beautiful. So then it became a morning thing: go out the front door, lock it, then look up. The moon would shine, you can pick out a constellation or two, maybe a planet like Venus nice and bright in the morning sky. And call me a nerd if you want, but it’s almost breathtaking.
You see, where I grew up there was a lot of light everywhere, so seeing the stars wasn’t really much of a thing. You can see some, but it also wasn’t the kinda neighborhood where you hung around outside looking up at the sky. Over time, you take that kind of thing for granted. Yeah, there’s stars and a moon, they’re up there all the time, big deal. I live in the ‘burbs now and while there’s still quite a bit of light, I can see the stars much better now than when I was younger, and now I find myself in awe. How they can be so far away and still seem right there, how we”ll see more of the moon’s surface in our life than our own planet’s (when you think about it). I think about how people navigated using the stars long, long ago, and how amazing it is that – as far as we know – we’re the only living beings out there. Crazy, right?
For Christmas, the kids got a telescope as a family gift and I think I was the most excited to use it. I’ve looked at the moon with it several times (most recently the blood moon eclipse, which was amazing), but the first time we set it up and I finally got the moon in view, it was really breathtaking. Even the kids were amazed, and they don’t seem amazed by anything sometimes. The stars, the moon, space…it just leaves me with this amazing sense of wonder. What else is out there? What will we find out in my lifetime? What’s it like to be in space?
There’s something about that sense of wonder that I find – I dunno – grounding, in a way. When I look up in the morning sky and see those stars as I’m walking to my car, there’s that feeling of being so small in this great huge universe. And that’s actually ok with me, it doesn’t bother or intimidate me at all. It tells me there’s so much more to know and to learn. And that I’m lucky to be alive, on Earth, to see what discoveries happen next. That’s amazing!
Then I get to thinking about being a Heart Dad and I realize that this life is often full of wonder, too, if you stop and think about it. The other day I was giving Nolan his evening meds: he’s sound asleep by this point and I was just kind of watching him sleep and breathe slowly (you parents know all about the “you still alive?” nighttime check). And then it hit me, even though I already knew it – this kid has half a heart. HALF. That’s wild…and it, like, still pretty much functions. Yes, the plumbing is different right now and it’s nowhere near perfect, but whoa. That’s pretty amazing. What does it feel like to have half a heart? I don’t know. I don’t think Nolan can describe it to me at this point, and either way he doesn’t really have much of a reference point for what a “normal” heart feels like. When Nolan gets to running around and playing, or when he’s at the trampoline park jumping around and climbing, you can sometimes forget about his HLHS. And yeah, that gives me a sense of wonder, too. Yes, CHD is stressful and scary, but wow is it amazing what this kid can do and how his body works.
Look at our own bodies! Before our heart warriors, I’m certain we really didn’t think much about our own physiology. We didn’t think about heartbeats or circulation or the intricacies of the human body. At least, I didn’t. But man, now that we’re kinda immersed in it, it’s pretty amazing right? It’s amazing how far medicine and healthcare has come. And it’s amazing to see where it will go.
I just think sometimes we get too caught up in everything…life hits you hard and fast…and we don’t take time to dwell in wonder about something. It’s a lot like me growing up, not seeing much of the stars and not bothering to really acknowledge that they were there. But now I can take the time and I have the ability to see them and be amazed. Often we let fears and anxieties of the CHD life consume us. I’m not saying it’s wrong to be afraid, or that it’s wrong to be anxious. I understand and accept that those things will always be there and they hit me, too. But I wonder what it would be like if every once in awhile we stop, open our eyes and our minds, and just dwell in the wonder that is our heart warrior….or the wonder of the human body, or the ocean, or space, or animals, or nature, or whatever. I’m willing to bet that in those moments when it feels like life is spinning just a bit (or a lot) out of control, letting wonder keep you grounded with help you a great deal. I know it does for me. So maybe get out there early in the morning or at night, take a few deep breaths, and look up. The stars are out there waiting.
This past December, Grant and Nolan turned the big number six. I can’t believe they’re already six, I can’t believe how much they’ve grown, and I can’t believe how much they’ve accomplished this year:
These two kiddos went from NICU babies to big boys starting Kindergarten. Nolan has been making some really wonderful progress with his eating, in fact, we really only use the g-tube right now for medications while he’s asleep. That’s amazing! Grant has started karate and is really enjoying that. I really love these two kiddos: they can go from sweet to crazy in the blink of an eye, but at the end of the day they bring us lots of joy and laughter.
We celebrated their birthday at home with some presents and fun. Each kiddo got a little cake that was decorated with their favorite animal. Nolan had owls and Grant had sloths (I told you, they’re a trip).
Every birthday is a big source of celebration in our home, especially for Nolan…every year is a gift! Love you boys!
So in late September/early October I went to Chicago for a work conference. I brought my staff with me and I think everyone was looking forward to it. I’d never been to Chicago before, so if I had any free time during the conference, I was gonna spend it exploring the city! Of course, I drank lots and lots of coffee and ate some amazing food. I got to see some beautiful art and learn about the city’s history. I visited the Cloud Gate and took the necessary selfie with it:
It was such a cool city. But here’s the rub: I almost missed a lot of what made it really cool. See, the way I got around the city was either through public transportation or my own two feet. So off I went, armed with my Transit App and the maps on my phone. I was pretty proud of myself getting off one train, then getting on a bus, and making it to one place or another, whether it was the Museum of Mexican Art or to have some amazing Puerto Rican food in Humboldt Park. But I was walking towards dinner one evening after walking around Wrigley Field when it hit me – I’m walking through this city looking down at the map but I’m missing the stuff I’m passing by.
Now don’t get me wrong, this isn’t a post about putting your phone down. Not at all. I had my phone out because I didn’t wanna get lost in a strange city and end up paying a fortune to uber myself out of it. There was nothing wrong with using my map app; rather, I was on a 1.5 mile walk, basically in a straight line! I couldn’t get lost if I tried! So I decided to just hold the phone down at my side and look around a little bit. And then I saw it: a cool mural here, a fun store over there, and hey look at that cool building. I started to notice the details of what makes Chicago – in my opinion – a really cool city. It’s got lots of character in the architecture, the culture, and the people. And if I stayed glued to my map, I would’ve definitely arrived at my destination, but I would’ve missed what was on the way.
So what does this have to do with being a Heart Dad? Hear me out:
How often do we overlook the cool details on this journey? How often do we let this beast that is CHD consume our focus to the point that we miss small victories?
Here’s a recent example: the other day at bedtime Nolan asked me for a drink. At first I thought, “Stall tactic!” of course. So I went downstairs and, grumbling, grabbed his cup with chocolate milk and brought it up to him. I sat there beside his bed as he held the cup in both his little hands and drank all the milk through a straw. And it then occurred to me, much like it did on the streets of Chicago: yo, this kid – the one who at one point couldn’t move his hands or arms, the one who ate or drank nothing by mouth – is sitting here in his bed, holding his cup and DRINKING! What an incredible reminder of the amazing things he’s been through, about how – at this moment in time – he is winning big time! It made me smile outside and I inside I was downright glowing, And to think I could’ve missed it.
And you guys, I also believe it can be easy to merely be focused on the far-away things, like our kids’ CHD itself. I’m not saying don’t ever think about it; frankly that’s impossible. I’m saying don’t make that the only place you choose to look. Check it out, I’ve had plenty of times where my brain is like “OHMYGODWHATIFHENEEDSATRANSPLANTICAN’TAFFORDIT!” And I get it, we’re only human, and we have this incredibly beautiful – and fragile – life to care for. But please, please, please don’t miss the smiles, the laughs, the funny stories, the hand-holding, the head lean on your shoulder, the bedtime stories, the bathtimes, the singing and dancing, the eating, the playing, the running, and the jumping. Your child has been through so much, don’t let the destination be the only thing you watch; there are so many incredible things to see on the journey.
So today, this week, this month, take some time and really look at what cool things you find on your journey. Remember to celebrate those moments that previously may not have been possible. I don’t know what your situation is, but I know it’s not easy, and I’m hoping that this little exercise helps you find some joy, some peace, and some hope along your way.
Do you remember this joke (I use the term joke loosely) from your childhood?
Person 1: Pete and Re- Pete were in a boat. Pete jumped out. Who was left?
Person 2: Re-Pete.
Person 1: Pete and Re- Pete were in a boat. Pete jumped out. Who was left?
Person 2: Re-Pete.
Person 1: Pete and Re- Pete were in a boat. Pete jumped out. Who was left?
Person 2: *Mauls Person 1*
Bruh. I know some of you just read that and came to the crushing realization that this joke has become a lot like your life, because you have small children who – let’s face it – can’t listen to save their lives, or just the daily act of being a Heart Parent is a lot of the same stuff over and over and over again. Ah, repetition. Don’t we love it?
If you’re anything like me, repetition is a struggle. My grandparents, at points throughout their lives, worked at factories and sometimes I think about that and can’t imagine doing that kind of work – standing in one spot, doing a repetitive task over and over again until I can go home. I would lose my mind. But hey guess what…Heart Dad life can sometimes be like it too. My struggle is often with the pharmacy: I use the pharmacy here at work because of the convenience and since the cardiology office is right next door in case I need any questions answered. But eeeeeeeeeevery month it’s the same thing for one particular med, and it goes like this:
Me: Hi I’d like to call in a refill for my son’s medicine *gives name and birthdate*
Pharmacy: Ok, which med?
Pharmacy: Um…it says here you’ll need to use the mail order pharmacy for that.
Me: Yes, I know, but I’ve talked to them and they can’t do this med, so I need you guys to do it.
Pharmacy: Are you sure?
Me: Yes, I’m sure…been doing this same call for months.
Pharmacy: Well let me call them and find out and I’ll call you back.
Me: *screaming internally* ok
*15 minutes later*
Pharmacy: Ok, we’ll have it ready at 2.
Dude. Same thing. EVERY. SINGLE. MONTH. It really used to make me go guano as I have to repeat the same thing over and over every single month. Whenever I pick up the phone to call in this med, I know exactly what will happen. But repetition is everywhere: every month call in new feeding supplies, keep track of meds to call in refills in time since they’re closed on weekends, give meds at 6:30 then 2:30 then 10:30. On and on. Repetition is everywhere in our lives!
Why does repetition make us nuts? Well it’s because it can be monotonous, it’s the opposite of spontaneity and sometimes feels a bit confining. We want to spread our wings and do whatever, whenever…right? Right? But check it out: nature…the very universe itself…is repetitive, and no one freaks out. The sun rises, the sun sets, Earth turns, the seasons change, etc. And this repetition is important to us…if it didn’t happen, we’d freak out and it’d be pandemonium in the streets!
Let’s face it, friends…for a lot of us, the repetitive nature of being a Heart Parent won’t go away anytime soon. There will be meds to give, tube feeds to do, treatments to complete, appointments to go to, refills to call in. I think we can all make an effort to change the way we view these repetitive tasks:
Add Something Positive to the Experience: so if you gotta do it, make it purposeful and a win for everyone. When I give Nolan his feeds at night, it’s easy to see it as just part of the daily routine, but I’ve started using that time to just look at him and – even though he’s asleep – whisper to him that I’m proud of all he’s accomplished. For those couple minutes I can celebrate who he is, and that always makes me feel good, as opposed to “Lemme finish this so I can move on.” Or when I go pick up his meds from the pharmacy: I try to chat up the team if they don’t have a long line. A smile, a “hello,” and a “how’s everything going today?” goes a long way towards helping you not become the “here he comes again” guy.
Remember The “Why” Behind the “What”: as mind-numbing as this can sometimes be, it’s all for a purpose. Your kiddo needs the meds, needs the feeds, needs the appointments. It’s all part of the job of protecting them and giving them the best shot at a great life!
Pat Yourself on the Back Sometimes: don’t get a big head about it, but you know what? You’re doing a really good job…tell yourself that every now and then. You’re playing your part in making this happen and keeping your kiddo as healthy as possible, so give yourself a little bit of grace. You’ll always be ready to go back for more when you feel good about what you’re doing.
Embrace it, Don’t be Resigned to it: there’s a huge difference between “this is my life and I’m gonna learn to work with it” and “*sigh* I GUESS THIS IS MY LIFE NOW.” I get it, sometimes you can feel both, depending on the week or how much you’d have to deal with the kids smearing mystery goo all over the house. But if you can embrace the repetition more than you just get resigned to it, you’ll find it much less of an inconvenience. It’s the new normal, remember? I know it’s not easy, but just try!
Keep your head up, friends. I know sometimes the repetition gets crazy and I know it’s turned your life upside down. You can’t go out like you used to, can’t just get up and go, and your calendar is full of reminders about meds and dr appts and whatnot. I’m not trying to say “just deal,” that would be callous of me…we gotta work with what we got, but we also have to change the way we look at what we’ve got. You can do this.
There are many times throughout this journey where you’re faced with situations, appointments, and dates that seem like they only exist to crush you. The next cath, the upcoming surgery, the impending birth of your heart baby. Sometimes when life gets chugging along, you hit those speed bumps where you get frustrated at the unfairness of it all, and you get angry and life starts to feel like it’s swirling. It’s during those times where we crave some words of comfort and inspiration. I know that many of you reading this may be going through those moments right now, so I wanted to share something that inspired me, which came from an unlikely source (don’t you just love those?). So follow along:
Lately my kids have really been into the Disney movie Moana. We have the DVD and the soundtrack. I’m not complaining, though: I actually really like the movie and its music; in fact, it’s often stuck in my head. Not to spoil any part of the movie, but there’s a part towards the end where one of the characters seems like he is performing a Haka dance. Now you guys might be familiar with the Haka: it became popular over the last few years once videos went viral of the All Blacks rugby team of New Zealand performing the Haka before they begin each match.
If you haven’t seen it, it’s amazing:
So after seeing it in Moana, I ended up in a good ol’ internet rabbit hole where I started reading about the Haka dance and it’s meaning. So the Haka is a traditional Maori war dance performed before battle to display a tribe’s strength and intimidation. It’s an amazing thing to see and, yes, very fierce and intimidating.
So what does this have to do with us? Stay with me…
My interweb searching lead me to another popular video of the Haka being performed by groomsmen at a wedding. It turns out the Haka is also performed during special ceremonies and celebrations and to show reverence to others. The performance was powerful and moved the bride to tears. What I really wanted to know, though, was what on earth they were saying during the Haka. I did some digging and it turns out this particular Haka is called Tika Tonu, which was composted by a chief for his son, who was experiencing some difficult times around 1914. When I read the words, it blew me away:
What is this problem you are carrying?
How long have you been carrying it for?
So son, although it may be difficult for you,
And son, although it seems to be unyielding,
No matter how long you reflect on it,
The answer to the problem
Is here inside you.
WOW. Just WOW. I must’ve read this 20 times and it still moves me. You see, friends, what you’re facing is hard: handing your baby over to a surgery team, fighting with your insurance, scraping up money for another month of medications. Whatever it is, it’s hard and it may seem like it’s too strong for you and you don’t know where the strength is going to come from…but it’s right there…inside of you. Through the tears, the sleepless nights you endure. You don’t give up and I encourage you never to give up! The rich, the powerful, the connected – they can’t do what you’ve done so far. You haven’t crumbled under the pressure…and every morning that you wake up and get out of bed is another day that you’re fighting back and you’re winning.
So yes, while it seems unyielding, you are capable of much more than you even know…so keep fighting!
I love how much this spoke to me, and to think it all started with a Disney movie. I really enjoyed learning a little bit about this beautiful culture. Here’s the wedding Haka video (with translation) for you to enjoy (look how fierce that bride is when she joins in!):
On Saturday, December 10th I woke up to a now-common sound: “Dad….DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAD!” I hopped up out of bed and opened the door to our room to see little Mr. Nolan there in the hallway, arms held up, saying, “Take me downstairs?” I bent down and scooped him into my arms and he put his arms around my neck and rested his head on my right shoulder. Almost immediately Grant came up and I picked him up too. It was a very special day. I whispered, “Happy Birthday, big boys!” and I was immediately overwhelmed. Here they are…my two little boys…and they’re FOUR! I remember the mad rush to the hospital at 3am, the C-Section, the NICU stay for both babies. I remember being happy as Grant did good enough to go home after 5 days, and I remember the fear that grew in the pit of my stomach every day as I knew sometime soon I’d have to hand over Nolan for a major heart surgery in an effort to save his life.
In the years since, Nolan has been through so much and continues to endure quite a bit. He’s one tough little boy. And Grant has been a fantastic little (by 2 minutes) brother. Together they’re a wreck: a destructive force of giggles and tackle-hugs. There was a time where we didn’t know if Nolan would see 4…but here he is: 3 heart surgeries later and still smiling and still fighting. Each year at their birthday I reflect on what we’ve all endured. There’s so much to celebrate…so much to be thankful for. We’re thankful for our little family, for physicians, nurses, friends, family.
Happy birthday to my sweet Nolan and Grant…I can’t wait to celebrate year 5!
I’m sure before you had a child that was born with a critical illness, you knew of your local Children’s Hospital, but you didn’t really know about it. You’ve probably said to yourself, “I’m glad we have it, I just hope we never have to use it.” For you that wish didn’t come true and ushered in a reality that you never expected.
Like all of us, you’ve made many trips to and from these hospitals and walked through the same set of doors over and over: rain or shine, sleet or snow, holiday or humdrum Wednesday. As we left our – hopefully – last surgery with Nolan, I started to really think on the significance of the front door of the hospital.
The Door can lead to our greatest fears, but also our greatest hope. There have been way too many times where I’ve had to walk from the parking garage to these doors, and every step closer makes me more scared and more nervous. Because on the other side of The Door is something scary for my son, something unknown, something painful, but something necessary. But also on the other side of those doors is a team of people who have the professional training to give your kid a shot at a full life. This door also leads the way back home…it says “we made it.” The Door leads to thanksgiving…to joy…to peace.
The Door also leads to suffering. And before you think I’m getting too heavy, just let me say that I believe we don’t talk about suffering enough when it comes to healthcare. Because it makes us uncomfortable and carries a negative connotation. But like it or not, this is the reality of what occurs every single day at a hospital: innocent kids given a diagnosis they don’t deserve, losing time on a childhood that should be free of pain and fear. There are parents who walk through those doors everyday consumed with thoughts like: is he going to make it? How am I going to pay for this? How long? How much more can I do? What about work? And on and on and on. They suffer, too.
Healthcare workers: you have such a power within your hands to impact suffering. Sure, if my son hurts you give him something for it. If I’m cold, you give me a blanket. That’s what’s considered inherent suffering. It’s tied to the thing we’re here for. But what else? There’s another type of suffering called avoidable suffering and preventing/reducing this takes a lot of effort and isn’t something you learned in school. What does this look like? It’s the worker(s) that walk past the lost parents in the hallway, because “I’m too busy right now.” It’s the worker that doesn’t make eye contact. It’s the one who talks down to people. It’s the one who won’t realize that the hospital isn’t quite home for a sick kid, and won’t go beyond the scope of their job description to make that better. It’s the worker who operates off of a checklist instead of a heartbeat. It’s the one who sees a parent as “pushy” or “snappy” without realizing that we…are…suffering. Once you realize that and try to put yourself in our shoes, it will drastically change the way healthcare is delivered. Because human connection and empathy are a powerful way to help heal. I know you didn’t get into healthcare for checklists, productivity reports, and to spend half the day scouring the building for the last working med pump. When you empathize and see suffering for what it is, you will reconnect with the reason you got into this business.
What about those who walk back out the doors and re-enter their lives? To friends and family: you play a crucial part in alleviating suffering, too! Please realize that while the surgery was a success, and the prognosis is good, we’re going back into a world that’s forever changed. There might be medications to give, multiple appointments, tube feeds, endless stops at the pharmacy, loss of work, increase in stress, and a new schedule that basically says we can’t hang out like we used to. We want nothing more than to go back to that, but this is our new reality. And it’s really, really hard sometimes. And we need you. Don’t stop inviting us to stuff: one day we’ll surprise you and say yes. Don’t stop asking how you can help, even if you don’t know what you’re doing. Realize that while we might wear a smile, it’s not always that way in our minds. We’re always going to worry about the future, that’s just how it is. So text your friend, send a card, cook them a meal…just let them know they’re loved. And try to understand what it would be like for you if the rug was suddenly pulled out from under you and you’re left to put it back together. And I also can’t let this paragraph end without saying that unfortunately there are people who walk through The Door empty-handed forever. I cannot imagine the pain these families face. Please be there with love and patience and kindness. If it was you, you’d want the same.
The Door is a place of great heaviness, but there are things we can all do for those who are currently standing at The Door. If we realize they have fears and are suffering, we can surely do things – through compassion and empathy – to give them the power of hope and joy. They can walk into the hospital knowing they’ll be treated like family. And they’ll walk out knowing they are truly loved.
Last month I took the family on a mini day-trip to see Looking Glass Falls, which is in Western North Carolina. It was a perfect stop because it’s easy to find and it’s literally located right next to the road inside Pisgah National Forest. You can park and see it right there, walk down some stairs to a lower viewing area, and even go in the water below if you want. My wife and I last went there nearly 5 years ago and it was great fun so we wanted the kids to see it.
We didn’t tell them where we were going, just that we were going to do something fun and we had to drive a little bit to get there. And you know how it is with kids sometimes: it better be FUN, or you won’t hear the end of it. As you enter the forest you follow this winding road: it was well into the afternoon and I was just trying to beat the sunset. We finally arrived and there was pretty much no one there, which was awesome! So we parked, got out and told the kiddos we were there to see a waterfall. As we got closer and you could hear the rushing water, the kids got excited.
When they saw this waterfall – no lie – they were in awe. The twins both took in a breath and their eyes were wide. Score one for mom and dad! My wife bravely waded down into the water (which was FREEZING), while I waited at the lower viewing area with the kids, just taking it all in and feeling the spray of the water on our faces. There were smiles all around…it was glorious.
But you know, it got me thinking. As I looked up at this rush of water pounding the rocks below, it made me think a little bit about the lives we lead as Heart Parents. Sometimes – and you all know this – we feel like we’re standing beneath a waterfall…our own personal deluge. The definition of deluge, according to thefreedictionary.com, is “something that overwhelms as if by a great flood.” Yeah, we know exactly what that’s like. The deluge comes when you’re the most tired, the most vulnerable, and the most emotionally spent. In the deluge you feel like empathy is gone and you can’t find your way out. For me, it’s those days where I’m 3 cups of coffee in and still can’t remember what day it is…it’s those nights where I silently beg God for my son to eat so we can get rid of his g-tube. And it’s the times where I’m just plain frustrated and flustered and I don’t even know why. You’ve had those days, I’m sure. I also believe those feelings are completely normal.
But as I also looked up at the waterfall, I looked beyond the sheer force of the deluge…and saw that a waterfall is majestic, awe-inspiring, and powerful. Yes, there are times where we’re right under the deluge…but there’s also times where we can look on in wonder. I don’t know about you, but for me I often miss the opportunity to reflect during those times. While having a child with a serious medical condition isn’t something anyone would choose, I can also appreciate the personal growth that’s happened to me during this time. I’ve learned more about compassion than I ever thought I knew, and I realized that I can use my experiences and my wacky view of life to help other people throughout the world, just by sitting on my couch and typing. Waterfalls have also been harnessed to create energy…now that’s some power. Likewise I’ve realized that when I’ve needed to, I’ve been able to harness some kind of strength deep inside to get through…sometimes it’s barely enough…but it’s there. And you know you’ve been there too.
So I know there will be times where you’re living under the deluge, and it’s tough. Please know I feel you and you’re not alone in the struggle. Please reach out to me or any other Heart Parent or support group so we can help get you through: we’re in it together. But also realize those moments when you’re standing in the viewing area: you can still feel the spray on your face, you can still hear the roar of the water, but everything is ok. Take some deep breaths in those moments and get some perspective about the waterfall that is your life. While it can overwhelm, it has also created some beautiful things: a love that you never thought you could have, grace that you never thought you could give, and immense strength that’s hiding deep down inside. This is where the real power lies, where we realize that the deluge isn’t a 24/7 thing and that I, you, we will get through this and be better for it every day.