Wearing my "ugly"

Wearing my "ugly"

Pink eye was the devil. MarKay had it four times and Piper was on her second time. I had washed every item and wiped every surface.....somehow it would find its way back into my innocent girls' eyes. It was maddening for me.....and then, I woke up with it. It was a Wednesday and I didn't have time to take the day off. I remembered a year or so back that my brother had gotten drops for his pink eye and gave me his left over drops. Quickly I dug through the cabinets to find it and SCORE! I saved myself from taking the day off! As the day went on (and I put expired eye drops in my eye), I could tell something was very wrong. My eye was blood red and very painful. All the teacher co-workers at my meeting slowly moved further and further away from me, afraid to catch the dreaded eye infection. By 2:00 I my eye started swelling and I knew I was either doctor bound or urgent care bound. My fear started as I wasn't sure if I could drive. Thank goodness my mom was able to go with me.

As we went on the adventure of urgent care, we were hilarious....my mom and I are Mascots, we love to be funny in serious situations. I'm not sure when the last time was that I laughed so hard. From making fun of my eye to her high blood pressure, the stories from that night are just too funny. But the greatest thing I was masking was my fear.....by this time my eye was swelling almost shut and I starting feeling what they call "toxic."

Most people couldn't see the worst of my eye because by this time the only relief I had was covering it with a wet paper towel. But when I revealed it, it was shocking. After two hours of waiting it was finally my turn to be seen. The doctor was very concerned and diagnosed me with some serious condition. He told me that I needed antibiotics to overdose in my body. He ordered a shot, oral antibiotic and and eye drop antibiotic. I had to see my doctor the next day because if i wasn't better, hospitalization was in my future.

This is when the panic set in. I was unable to mask my fear with jokes, I felt like I was going to pass out. I started having a panic attack.....I knew it was serious, I just didn't want to hear it because then it made it true. Waiting for the 10 minutes it took for him to give me the shot felt like an eternity. I knew this shot was my key to healing and it was taking so long for them to get back.

Finally I was able to get the shot and then it was time to fill my prescription. By this time my sunglasses were a permanent fixture on my face to the general public. Finally I made it home and knew I would wake up significantly better.

The next morning my eye was matted shut, the swelling had not gone down at all. Panic set in again, I knew this wasn't right. I immediately started crying, my face disfigured, my eye was unavoidable to everyone I would come in contact with. My vision impaired I wasn't sure if I would ever regain that.....panic. Again I put the sunglasses on my head and set out for the doctor.

As I walked into the room the poor unsuspecting nurse asked the innocent question, "what brings you in today?". All I had to do was lift my sunglasses....the horror that was on her face I will never forget. She was very kind but I almost felt bad for her as I surprised her with the ugliness of my face......needless to say, the doctor came in very shortly after. As he asked me questions and looked at my eye he kept saying "ok, ok, ok," as if to not over react but I could hear his concern. He proceeded to tell me that I needed another antibiotic shot as well as some powerful antihistamine to rule out an allergy. Then he was emphatic that he needed to see me the next day and to not return to work. I was vulnerable enough to let him know that I was really scared.....he assured me I would be ok....

I proceeded to horrify the poor prescription lady at Target when she asked me the innocent question of why I needed antihistamine. I decided the sunglasses were a must in order to protect these poor unsuspecting people.

I could tell within 20 minutes that the antihistamine was taking effect....my eye was draining and the pain subsided. The next day when I came back to the doctor, he was so happy. He told me he could sleep better at night and he was worried about me. I instantly felt like he was my Dad and was so happy to be under his care.....

I spent 48 hours wearing "ugly" on my face. The eyes are unavoidable and are often said to be the windows to your soul......the horror I saw when revealing my "ugly" reminded me of telling others about losing my son. It never ceased to amaze me when I experienced the uncomfortable interaction from the other unsuspecting person. When I lifted my sunglasses of my soul to reveal the "ugly" I felt towards God or this world, or the authentic reaction I had toward life would shock those around me. I started feeling sorry for those around me and have fallen silent lately. Someone asked me how I got Pipers name the other day......that is connected to Jerin.....I didn't mention it. I mean after all, this person was pregnant and I didn't want to freak her out.... No one wants to be in an awkward interaction. One where someone feels pity and also shock at knowing something so deep about a person. They are unsuspecting, they will not expect the authenticity, the reality.

This whole experience got me wondering, "what if we if we all wore our "ugly" to where we could see it?" Would it be shocking? Horrifying? Maybe if we all were so vulnerable and willing, it would be normal. The truth is, it's serious.....we just don't want to talk about it so that it isn't real. We make jokes or become the "mascot" to avoid it. We put on our permanent shades to protect those around us from the hurtful or painful truth.... Our eyes are red, pussy, and clouded with the seriousness of who we really are.....the core. Maybe you're not in urgent care but what do you hide on a regular basis? What's the real soul-stirring story that is covered by the tinted lenses?.......What's your ugly?

On this blog I lift my sunglasses to you.....you may move away or wash your hands an extra time, but maybe, just maybe you can see through the windows to my soul.....my prayer is that you will join me in this journey. That even if your eyes are clouded, red and hard to see through, that you lift your lenses and show your soul. Maybe it starts to yourself in the mirror, but my hope is we can all wear our "ugly" so that it becomes the new normal instead of a horror.....

The Perfect Box

The perfect box

Looking back on the last five years has been a bit overwhelming. We've had our first daughter, lost a son, had another daughter, and had to short-sale our home. Our lives have slowly been stripping away the things that don't really matter. Our home is a possession, a place that houses souls. We were upside down as many of others are. We found ourselves working in order to keep a possession, I likened it to being a hamster running on a wheel. The best thing that ever happened was Jerry losing his job. We financially could no longer maintain the insanity of running endlessly with no end in sight. So, we packed up our pride and cleaned out/got rid of the furniture that wouldn't fit in our two-bedroom apartment.

As we were packing I would look at a pile of things I valued enough to move to our new space. I surveyed the items and went to the garage of endless boxes. Every detail was considered when picking the box, the size, shape, and sturdiness. When I found the gem, I deemed it a success if every item fit with no room to spare, no wasted space, even the lid wouldn't buckle at the top. Perfect.

As I slowly saw my house lose it's "home," I felt like I was putting pieces of me in those boxes. The pride, the secrets, the lies....taping it up with no room to spare. I box up what I feel is important enough to carry around from place to place....the things I can't let go of. I'm willing to lift the load sweat over the process and bleed from breaking my nail over taping it up. I struggle to carry it to the truck as I see it drive away.

Then there is the unpacking...

It's funny how when you get to the new space, it is so easy to only bring up what you really "need.". The game changes. The place is smaller, the needs are different. Then the garage becomes a storage for all the lost boxes. We don't get rid of the "baggage" because we convince ourselves we "need" it. We house it and keep it "just in case." so the garage becomes a grave of dead unneeded boxes. And when guests come to visit, we let them think that our place has no clutter, no wasted items. No one can the dreded garage where we keep things unnecessarily to keep them safe. All that pride, lies, secrets are "safe" taped up in boxes stacked up high to the ceiling.

What I've realized is the important things in life is the unpacking. It's going through those boxes and showing others the truth. Sorting through the perfectly packed crap that we store and keep because we still have room for it. Sharing in the pain and life lessons that have brought us to this place is the real secret. The secret to the invaluable gem of relationship. My huge backyard and completely renovated (with our own hands) house is no longer ours. We can never get back the hours we spent sanding the cabinets or working the extra hours to make ends meet. But my husband, you, and my friends can know me and meet me on a deeper level. A level that you understand too but never discuss. You see, we have the same garage, the same boxes and the same packing abilities. We have found the perfect box for all of our junk, all of our crap that doesn't really matter but we move it from place to place. The pain and beauty is unpacking those boxes, releasing life together sharing our box cuts and tears. We can't short-sale a relationship. There is nothing like deeply knowing and understanding the soul of another. This kind of love transcends death, it is packaged in the heart.

Elephants II

Elephants II

Three years ago on this day I gave birth to my son, Jerin Alexander. I was what I thought to be 5 months pregnant at the time. My son had already left us when I delivered him, this blog has been my story.

Last year on this day I talked about the story my counselor had told me about elephants. Elephants have an amazing ability to honor and morn those who have left them. When they come across bones of their loved ones, they remember them by picking up their bones and lovingly holding and caressing them. They approach grief with openness and loving tenderness.

Last year I wasn't able to be the elephant. I felt that the memory was too raw, it was too soon to remember my son with gentle, loving, and tender thoughts. This year I was able to pick up the memory and hold it closely to my heart. After cleaning my closet, I found my little stash of him. I looked at my picture of him and I saw things I didn't remember before. He looked so peaceful. He had his ten little fingers and toes. His features were so defined already. And......he had hair. He already had black hair on top of his head! I remember being afraid to see him and hold him. I strangely didn't want to have a connection with him. I didn't want the connection to cause more pain.....but I knew that I needed to hold him. I had to see my son. The moment was the same as if he were alive. I was crying from how beautiful he was. I showed him to my mom and Jerry had his time to bond with his son. I remember him being half the size of my forearm. The blankets weighed more than he did. I don't know how long we spent with him but I remember it like it was yesterday. He was my little man already.

I've often referred to this journey as an ugly scar that will forever be with me. This year I believe this journey is a scar, but I think the meaning is a bit different. Every scar has a story. Every scar involves pain. Some stories are heroic and others are silly. But no matter what the story.....there is a story.

Jerin will always be my scar....my story. He will forever be alive as long as I keep telling my story. Even if my scar is ugly, I can't hide it. He is the first chapter, the beginning of really starting to KNOW God and knowing myself. The beginning of living authentically and having relationships that matter and help make the world a bearable place to live. The beginning of not "doing" but "being." The beginning of questioning, being mad at, and truly opening myself up to God like never before.

This year I realize that losing Jerin may have just saved myself. Saved myself from living a meaningless, mundane, and unauthentic life. I have an opportunity to live life fully and freely through pain.

I feel like I always end with thanking you for your support. But there really isn't a lot of people who are comfortable with his kind of journey. It can be a very lonely place and road so I thank you again for your love.

The Onion

Perhaps the most frustrating aspect in writing a blog (I think of course) is having too many ideas. I have so much stuff going on in my head it can be really frustrating for me to have it all come together into one thought.

So, I present to you......the onion. My counselor told me that I was like an onion. Many, many layers. Thats all she said. But I'm beginning to understand.......with an onion, You can peel back one layer only to discover there is another one. Continue to do so and it will take a long time to get to the core. Her point was that everything we deal with is connected to the core of who we are. Our lives are spent creating layers upon layers of protection over our true self. We can't dare reveal this delicate/vulnerable core to anyone so we find ways to cover it. These ways that are socially accepted by all. Some of us deny ourselves therefore put on masks and try to convey what we "think" we should be. We say and do things that make sense in our circumstance, we rationalize the truth to each event that happens in our lives. We turn to things like: eating, not eating, drinking, health, drugs, caffeine, reality t.v, video games, movies, books, education, and even can use religion to justify, cover up our true selves. Layers.....layers.

The funny thing about this analogy is that she didn't choose another vegetable with layers. Why not a brussel sprout, or a head of lettuce? Being on this journey I believe it is because onions make you cry. You cannot escape the wrath of an onion. As soon as you really dig into it, your senses take over and you cry. It's painful sorting through every layer. Just when you think you've arrived, you realized you just peeled back the top layer. All these ideas and little nuances that form in my head are the layers of my onion connecting to the core. I wish I could tell you what my core is but I haven't arrived. I know that I'm crying along the way as I discover another false-truth layer I have built upon myself. Each layer reveals a little more of me. The tears are vulnerable and the process long but I'm willing to keep peeling.

I think I'm realizing that losing my son was not the cause of all the beliefs I had with God and the world...... he was the first layer of my onion and the reason I decided to get to the core.

All Things Heathen and Santa

Well since I'm being authentic, I thought I would bring up the heathen ideal of Santa. I'm not gonna lie, we believe that Jesus is the reason for the season and everything Christian. I'd been toying with the idea of allowing the idea of Santa into our home especially after being "authentic" and real I didn't want to feel like I was lying to our children. I've noticed quite a bit of discussion on this topic especially in the Christian circle. I wasn't 100% on the issue until....we went to see Santa.

MarKay had her list, she rehearsed her lines, she was ready. She couldn't nap she was so excited and she was trying her best to act perfect. Everything she did, she talked about him. And then it was her turn.....she pranced up to him and sat right down. We took pictures and then it happened...... he set her down and looked right at her and they had a little chat. It was so sweet and intimate, I wished I knew what they were talking about. They were having their own little moment where she was sharing her wishes, hopes, dreams, and desires. He smiled and nodded as he listened intently repeating what she was saying. She giggled and knew he was only focused on her, no one else existed. He knew her, just like she had hoped for.

Then it dawned on me.... this is a perfect picture of our relationship with our heavenly father. Anticipating His presence, anxiously awaiting time with him....intimately telling him our hopes, dreams, and desires innocently. Oh how I loved that moment that I wasn't even apart of! I long to prance up to my Savior and have no one else in the world matter. Having his full attention and listening ear. Knowing that he knows me! Knowing that he wouldn't wag his finger and wrinkle his brow in disappointment or think, "you want what?!". Nor would he say, "I saw you push your sister and not listen to your mom.". Unfortunately the latter is usually the relationship we have.....I have.

I also appreciate some of the lessons Santa teaches us. I mean did you get EVERYTHING you asked for?! Nope, me either. And let me tell you that MarKay is not getting a bunny.....Santa shows us a truth about God that even if we ask for something we think we need, it just might not happen. He also, sees us when we're sleeping, he knows when we're awake.... He know if we've been bad or good......but we don't have to be good for goodness sake! Sorry that was the corny part of this post.....but really, isn't that a relief?! How many times did you hear your mom or teacher say, "santa's watching," when you were being naughty? Then the threat, you aren't going to be blessed with Santa's gifts.....

I personally can't wait to explain to my kids to remember the feelings they felt, the magic, the mystery and adoration for Santa during the holidays....then explain to them that God loves you just like that but better. Better because He's always there for you, no matter the time of year AND He won't give you everything you want (because he knows better, blah, blah, blah) AND you don't have to be good, He still will love and bless you because He loves you no matter what!

So thank you God for the truths you taught me through the eyes of my child and the white beard of Santa. I strive to be like a child again and believe....I mean really believe.

Christianeese

I haven't written in a while because I know what I need to talk about......this is by far the scariest post I've done. I'm petrified of what you will think of me because this matter is so personal and so dear and so......political. But I know it needs to be said and if I'm to continue to live an authentic life, then here we go.

I wanted to be profound and write metaphorically and use powerful words but I threw that out, it's going to be raw folks, hope you can handle it! As I've mentioned before, I realize through the journey of my sons death that I had a very unauthentic relationship with God. I wanted to be a "good christian.". I figured out what that meant by hearing sermons, reading books, and talking with other Christians. So I did all those things that made me great, here are just a few of them:

Go to church

Be involved

Be in a bible study

Read scripture (have a daily quiet time)

Memorize scripture

Pray (use the ACTS acronym, A -adoration, C-confession, T-thanksgiving, S-supplication)

So as you can see I was exhausted and really didn't get to ALL these things everyday. But with that came guilt because I wasn't measuring up. I mean God gave His Son for me, the least I could do was live completely for Him. All of the above defined that. Oh and by the way, I had a hard time enjoying the process. There were things that I did really enjoy like being involved and especially worship. I loved fellowship and talking about God through our life experiences. But I had a hard time with the task of reading, memorizing, and sectioning out time alone with God. I kept thinking it would get easier, I equated it with running.....the more you do it, the easier it will be and you will WANT to do it. I was told that you should do all the above things even if you don't want to because God commands it. And....you will be better for it. Little did I know that this was not helping my relationship with God but was slowly building a wedge between us called works. I started equating Gods love for me with what I did for Him rather than who I was. That is why the guilt happened. I knew I had disappointed Him when I didn't get up to my alarm to spend time with Him. I was doing all I could, juggling so many balls in the air until one dropped and they all began to fall.

After losing Jerin I was mad. I do all these things, I do all the "right" things and this happens!??! I didn't KNOW God. My foundation was all knowledge based. I knew of Him, i knew what He does and is capable of doing.....It was Christianeese. Yep I made up a word. But true, I could say all the right things, do all these things, I could tell people anything I could about God.....and then He allowed my son to die and I had nothing. I was mad my Christianeese had ceased. It was gone because it wasn't true. It wasn't authentic. I didn't have a heart relationship with Him. The rubber meets the road and I had to figure this out.

So my son dies and I try to "fix" these feelings I had towards God. I needed to get my Chrisitaneese back! I was broken and I couldn't talk up the christian walk, I couldn't say God is great, God is good. But I tried. Let me tell you this, you can't have a Chrisitaneese relationship when your mad, but this is where the authenticity comes in. I didn't know (still don't) how to have an authentic relationship with God.

I immediately realized all of my "tasks" needed to be removed or else I would fall back into the lie. I dont have regimented times with God. I have removed myself from task oriented things because those things were defining me. I need to be still and be vulnerable and be imperfect even in this. I can honestly say that the most difficult thing for me to do is to just.....be. I am no longer the hamster running aimlessly in the wheel, I have forced myself to get off and just BE.

I've explored what it truly means to be a "good Christian.". Those of you who are ready to quote me scripture I want to say, it can't be defined. I defined it by trying to do the above things but it didn't work....for me that is. I've told my counselor, I'm afraid that I am not in a relationship with Him right now because I know if I go back, it would be because I am trying to "do" again and not "be." She asked me to define what a relationship with God should look like. I knew what I thought it should be. But I didn't know what an authentic one looked like. I started rattling off all the things I thought and she stopped me and said, "God doesn't need you." She explained that He created me to have a relationship with Him. He is God, he doesn't need me to complete tasks for His sake. He places those things for us so we can know Him better. He doesn't NEED me to have a quiet time everyday or memorize scripture......that's for me. It's the tools He gives me to better understand Him. Wow. It seems so self explanatory.....but all along I was doing because I thought He wanted me to, expected me to, or was disappointed if I didn't.......there is no freedom in that kind of thinking or relationship.

So I am still in the process of being real with my relationship. I really feel so vulnerable and challenged in this place. I feel like Adam and Eve when they realized they were naked, I am uncomfortable because I've stripped away all that is familiar to me so that I can start over. I've said no to memorizing scripture in my bible study because my urge was to say yes only because I didn't want them to think less of me. I didn't fast how I "should of" because all I could think about was how much weight I would lose in that time. Yep it's embarrassing but true, that was the old me who did things for people rather than God. Now I am just "being" for God and it feels so right.

I want to end by saying this: I'm on a journey, I value all the things we "do" to know and understand God. If you "do" all those things, I value you and respect you. I'm in no way passing judgement on what you do and I pray there is no judgement on me. I am here to live more fully and authentically and I challenge you to do the same. There is freedom in being real....it is uncomfortable yet so liberating.....

Waves

Sent from my iPad

On Oct 29, 2011, at 9:00 PM, Erin Motto wrote:

Having been on this journey of grief I decided to look up the popular "stages of grief" just to see where I was. I found myself viewing the stages as platforms that I would strive to somehow get myself to the next "stage." I strived to get to the next stage like we do when we are playing a good game. It is everything to us and we cant wait to get back to it in order to pass it. I asked my counselor how to speed up this process and move on with it. However, it has become clear after my research and my own experience that "getting over it" is not a linear motion. It is fluid, like the vast ocean moving with waves. Waves that are going in and out of anger, questioning, disbelief.....just when I think I have arrived to "acceptance," a wave knocks me off my feet into the tragedy all over again.
I think my problem with the word "acceptance" is that I equate it to perfection. I will be perfect when I arrive to this platform. I will have no more sadness or grief....I will be able to be like "all those other people" who can get up on stage and talk about their tragedy like nothing. The reality is, I never want to be "those people" because I want to be real, breathing, and tenderly cry for my son. The tears are a tribute to a child who is not with me.....the remembrance is giving homage to my lineage. Besides, who says pain has to be bad? I loved this quote (that I'm stealing off of Facebook)...."grief isn't wrong. There's such a thing as good grief. Just ask Charlie Brown." I get it Charlie, I do!

Family of five

Today I finally got some physical representation of my son! I have struggled so much with the fact that my son isn't here physically but he is so much of who I am (just as all of our kids and loved ones). We don't have a picture of him hanging on our wall, he isn't in our Christmas photos, and I don't hear his footsteps coming down the hall. But again he is apart of my family. I have had so much guilt that everything that has to do with him is in a box at the top of my closet. My closet!!! It just isn't right.
But now I have him next to my heart. No one has to know about it or ask, it's just for me. He is now physically apart of me. If they do ask....MarKay already has....I can tell them and, it is what it is......I feared how I would feel when the necklace with his name and birthdate arrived in the mail. Would it feel like the anniversary of his death or his due date? Would I be able to put it on or would it be too hard? I slowly opened the box anxiously and was shocked at my reaction. The feeling I had was absolute pride. It was the moment when you say to yourself, "that's my boy!". I was surprisingly overjoyed and wanted to show the world like you would a super cute photo. I'm beaming even now just telling you about it. Over the last few hours of wearing my son it is clear that I am riding a wave of acceptance right now. I've decided to enjoy the ride.

Sent from my iPad