4 Years and 361 Days

It's 5 Days until 5 Years

It doesn't seem that long ago but I guess a lot of people in my family feel the same way.  There's hearing on the other end of your phone, "Amy, you have to get to NIMC right away."

NIMC is the hospital we all knew as Northern Illinois Medical Center in McHenry.  They'd changed over to Centegra years ago but if you were a true resident of McHenry or neighboring towns it was always going to be NIMC.  Just like Macy's on State Street in Chicago would always be remembered as Marshall Field's, Willis Tower will always be called Sears Tower, Allstate Arena would be called Rosemont Horizon and US Cellular Field would be Comiskey Park.

No matter what the name of the hospital was something serious was wrong with Aaron.  I could hear it in my mom's voice.  Aaron comes from a large family.  As you may already know I'm not a fan of large groups of people.  I remember parking my car close to the ER entrance.  I sat and prayed, asking God to prepare me for whatever was going to happen.  I also asked Him to let me be a source of comfort for my family and anyone else who needed it.  I took a deep breath, got out of my car and headed for that large door where the unknown awaited.

I immediately felt a lot of tension.  Not because people were not getting along but because the dire circumstances of Aaron's condition were weighing so heavily on everyone.  I had yet to find out what happened.  Here's what I was told:

Aaron was cruising around with a couple of buddies who were riding in the front seat.  They were on their way to an ALATEEN MEETING.   While Aaron was in the back seat, he decided to huff propane from a camping size container that looks like this:

TO LEARN ABOUT INHALANT ABUSE CLICK HERE

We learned later from Aaron's friends that this was not his first time.  In fact, he had been huffing for a long time.  None of his friends ever told his family because they did not see the danger in it.  They, too, huffed inhalants and nothing ever happened to them.

While in the back of the car all of a sudden Aaron began to have convulsions and seizures.  The driver pulled off the road immediately to call a buddy then he called 911.  Aaron's body stopped moving and he stopped breathing.  The boys administered CPR until the paramedics arrived.  By this time, Aaron's heart had stopped beating and his brain had been without oxygen for 10 minutes.  With their machines, Aaron's heart began to beat again and they rushed him to NIMC.

As a Christian, the Bible says God knows everything about me:  PSALM 139

I don't have to worry about anything.  And yet I wonder about those 10 minutes when Aaron died.  When we die, in my Christian belief, our spirit goes one of two ways:  Heaven or Hell.
But if the body comes back to "life", then what?

I was asked if I wanted to have some time alone with Aaron.  I said, "Yes."  I walked back to where he was laying.  He was so still.  Eight days prior we celebrated Easter together.  All of us shared with Aaron what Jesus meant to us.  Nothing preachy - straight from our hearts.  Even little Alicia told her story about Jesus living in her heart.  I saw Aaron listening and asking questions.  You could tell he was pondering what we were sharing with him.

And now, here he was.  My precious 18 year old nephew in a physical state I could not wrap my mind around.  For some reason, God has given me this weird ability to discern with my hands how to pray for someone.  I might get woken up at night or be prompted when I see them.  This time, I was prompted to put my right hand on his forehead and my left hand over his heart.  I closed my eyes and stayed like that for a little while.  Do you know what I felt?

Nothing.  Aaron was gone.  There was no brain activity and there was nothing inside of him that was him.  He wasn't there even though his body was there.  I kissed him on the forehead, told him I loved him then went out into the waiting room.  I talked to my sisters who wanted to know what I thought.  It hurt me to say it but I told my sister who is Aaron's Stepmom that I didn't feel anything - that I think he's gone.  She said she thought so, too.

Before Aaron was moved to a private room in ICCU, everyone gathered around Aaron to say a prayer.  When they asked if anyone would like to pray, I raised my hand.  I prayed for his comfort and for the family going through this hard time.  I prayed for Aaron to get better but if he didn't that we would all.....and I was cut off by a lady who was intoxicated.  It's hard to prepare people when others are in such a state of denial that it does more damage than good.

I stayed in the waiting room with my family including my sister's daughters who were exhausted.  We snuggled up and said prayers for Aaron.  When Aaron was in his room and my sister and brother-in-law returned, it was time to go home.  My nephews had already left.

And so began a five day journey none of us wanted to travel.

Going Out With New Friends

It's supposed to be a day of rest except it's anything but.
I'm so tired I can barely walk from the living room to the kitchen.
I want to sleep uninterrupted but I know that won't come for awhile.
This is when I want to go to a bar, order a few drinks, chase them down and then be at ease.
Really at ease.

My body will be relaxed.
I can sit at the bar and watch sports for as long as I want.
I can feel nothing for several hours.
Just the warmth of that drink and the subtle quietness that takes place in my head.

To be asleep.
Ah, that would feel good.
I'm not sure about this dinner tonight.
I'm nervous and don't want to go.
But it's one of those where I should go.
I promised someone a ride.
I need someone there to understand the ptsd/anxiety.
I'll load up on my xanex.
I have to get cash for dinner.
I'm glad I have it, God.
Thank you.

I think I'll get something to drink (sugar free grape kool-aid).
Lay down.
Not eat.
And rest.

God, I need someone there who understands social anxiety, mental illness and stuff like that.

Please.

Good Friday - Easter Sunday

Thank you, Jesus.
You entered this mess of a world.
You grew up and started your ministry to help messy people.

People who were lonely in heart or suffering from physical ailments.  They did not know you came to teach them about your Father and to be their friend.  They did not know to ask for healing and if it's according to your Father's will, it shall be done.  If not, they will not be alone through it.

People who, because of poor choices they had made and the consequences of those choices, did not know they could be forgiven for their sins and washed clean as snow.

People who, because of another's sin against them and possibly the destructive choices they had on another's innocent body and confusing their emotions, did not know you saw what was happening.  They didn't know because of man's free will you could not stop it from happening.

At the same time, they need to know every tear they cried is stored in a bottle in Heaven.

Psalm 56:8 You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book.

Every tear.  And when they cried, you cried.

Thank you, Jesus.
You entered this mess of a world.
Your ministry reached thousands yet you would have come for only one.

Jesus in the flesh ended on Good Friday but God saw to it that His spirit did not leave quietly.  He let it be known that it was just the beginning.

Easter Sunday for many is a celebration of Jesus' tomb being empty, the resurrection of his body, the appearance of Him in His glorious body, the announcement of the Holy Spirit and the beginning of the church.  Ministry training wasn't finished.

It's no secret I gave my life to Jesus - all of it - 27 years ago.
NO regrets.
Just like the abuse to my body, mind and emotions ended many years ago,
God gave me a new beginning in His Son.
There's a tomb inside of me that carries dead memories.
I've been asking God to roll that stone away from the front of the tomb.
It's attached to comfort eating and many emotions.
So all of that lingers inside and I want it to be free.
Why?
So that I can live in a freedom I've longed for all my life and
For God to take what is damaged and replace it with new,
In His Goodness and Glory, for His Kingdom and Purpose.

Then I, like Jesus, can say...."It is finished."

It's That Time of the Year

It's begun.  All the depression, all the heaviness of heart, the isolation and fear of being outside - all of it is beginning to take a turn.  It started last night.  I was changing my profile picture and my cover picture on Facebook to this:

It's that time of year when the death of my nephew hijacks my emotions.  What I mean by that is I could be working on the most difficult phase of my recovery and when the remorse of Aaron's death busts through any barricades I may have, it's as though my barricades were thin air instead of walls of steel.


Inconsolable sadness can erupt out of me, not just from Aaron's death, but from all the death, grief and loss that haunts and eludes my well-being.  I learned how to cry silently and learned how to toughen up and not cry at all.  I learned how to channel my anger/rage into eye staring contests with my drunk dad and I never lost a challenge.  I learned that provoking a fight/beating with him was the best way to protect my sisters.  All of these survival behaviors worked.  In fact, they worked very well.

February was death month.  I did not shed a tear.  It wasn't because I felt no sadness.  It was because I did not give myself the time I needed to slow down and get in touch with what was stirring up inside.  Aaron died five years ago on April 16th.  I was there on Monday, the day he was brought into the ER.  I was there everyday.  I baptized him on Wednesday.  I was asked to sit with him all day Friday.  I was asked by his mom to do so (not my sister, by the way).  When Aaron's blood pressure started dropping, I brought Aaron's parents and whoever else was meant to be there into the room. I was asked to stay.  His heart machine was slowing down.  And just like in the movies......

The machine slowed way down and then it made that awful noise.
That tone that tells you your loved one is no longer with you.
Aaron was gone.

I don't know why some people think dying from huffing is cool or funny.  There's nothing funny about it.  There's nothing amusing about how Aaron died.  There's nothing miraculous that saved his life.  Aaron breathed in propane, he went into seizure convulsions, his heart went into cardiac arrest and stopped beating.  He was without oxygen for 10 minutes before the paramedics arrived.

In medical terms, Aaron had died.  For ten minutes, Aaron was dead.  The paramedics were able to restart his heart because he was 18 years old and he had a strong heart.  But the Aaron we knew and loved was already gone.  Severe brain damage, blind, deaf, paralyzed, everything that could be wrong was wrong.  No hope for any kind of recovery.  None.

I knew it when I arrived at the emergency room.  I went back to see him alone.  I placed one hand on his forehead and one on his heart.  There was nothing there.  I knew he was gone.

Tears.  I cried a little last night and again this morning.

Maybe I'll cry again.

Un-Expectations

An unexpected day with a friend yesterday turned out really nice.  Her mom came along and I hadn't see her since I was a youngster.  It was a good time with no worries, no signs of mental illness.  I felt at ease most of the time and I even spoke up with ideas.

I felt safe.

Isn't that how friendships are supposed to be?  I like to think so.  I gave my friend the 2013 blog to read in preparation for publishing God's book.  I tried to read it just to know what she'd be reading but I couldn't even get to page ten.  I felt all goopy inside.  Embarrassed by my feelings, experiences, just all the stuff that makes telling my story so exposing.

She's giving me such loving words as she's going along.  I keep sitting here knowing I'm still in a depression puddle unable to really talk about anything.  I'm isolated in my house.  I only go out for volunteering.  I don't get dressed unless I have to.  I'm not eating again.  It's another round of something which I can't label.

I'm definitely not going into the hospital.

I'm watching a friends pommies in May.

That will be nice.