Heartbreak Creates Beautiful Stories

I had a thought the other day, "What if the life I am leading was being written into a novel?"

It would be a novel filled with twists and turns, highs and lows, heart break and joy.  If I think of my life in that context, the current pain is put into perspective.  I am an avid reader, and I know that the tone of novels, especially the magnificently written, can change instantly.

How lucky would we be to wake up on our 87th birthday and be handed a book that was the story of our lives?   It would be thick, leather, and have our names engraved in gold on the front.  How moving, powerful, heart-wrenching, inspiring and encouraging would each of our stories be?  If our lives were turned into novels at the end of our time here, who would read them and how would they be affected by the literature?

It is possible that we would be the only individuals to turn the pages with fervor and excitement, remembering each step that we took and reminiscing on the lives that we led.  Even if that were the case, I would gladly accept the gift.  A beautifully written novel moves my soul.

One my most favorite books is Gone With the Wind.  As a little girl, I snuggled under homemade afghans in my grandparent's basement and watched the entire movie with my grandmother during a weekend sleepover.  I was entranced.  I loved the dresses, the accents, the drama, and of course, the kissing.  As an adult, I knew that if I adored the movie, the book would be far superior.  It did not disappoint.

Scarlett O'Hara's life begins in a blessed way.  She knows no pain, and cannot fathom a world outside of the plantation of Tara.  It does not take long for her world to be turned upside down.  As the story continues, you experience the life of this woman with her.  She encounters, grief, love, betrayal, poverty, opulence, and incredible loss.  Sometimes she handles it with grace, but most times she does not.  The story ends with heartbreak as the love of her life walks off into the misty fog as he can no longer endure her fickle heart.

The part of Scarlett that draws me to her is that in this crisis, she wipes her tears, her eyes begin to sparkle, and she convinces herself that, "After all, tomorrow is another day."  She vows to move forward with hope in spite of intense pain.  I love that about her.

There is something about intense heartbreak that makes you want to turn the page, to see what is next, to keep reading the story.  There is something about emotional pain that makes me say to myself, "After all, tomorrow is another day."  I want to know what is in store for me.  What is on my next page, or chapter of life.  This crisis has to spur me on, as I can't stay frozen in this heartbreaking moment.

My heart has broken this past year more than I have thought was possible.  Sometimes I feel the actual breaking in my chest.  My sleep is filled with nightmares, my stomach feels as if someone is gripping it, tears flow easily when they once were hard to conjure up.  I miss my little brother, I have been knocked down countless times in our fertility struggle, and I have hopes and dreams that I have only seen fulfilled in my mind.

However, God is the author of my story and He does not make mistakes.

If I live through heartbreak, I know that my heart is still beating.

There is a song that my students sang at their 5th grade graduation last year.  It is slightly cheesy, and overplayed, but I tend to like songs like that.  There is a set of lyrics in the beginning that encourage me to keep the sparkle in my eyes, despite the tears.

"Hope that you fall in love, and it hurts so bad  
The only way you can know is give it all you have  
And I hope that you don't suffer but take the pain  
Hope when the moment comes, you'll say...I did it all"  

I love those lyrics because the writer is wishing heartbreak on the listener.  Heartbreak changes us in a way we cannot fathom until we experience it.  It makes our story a "page turner".  It keeps our life interesting and beautiful and overwhelming and magnificent.

Heartbreak puts our stories on the bestseller list.

Listen to "I Lived"

Louie's Karaoke

This past Friday, I packed my overnight bag for our final out-of-town wedding of the summer.  When I realized that my rehearsal dinner outfit, high heels, three curling irons, make-up bag, and various other items that made it look like I was going away for longer than a weekend and further than Ann Arbor didn't fit in my favorite weekend bag, I dug through my closet to find something to supplement my inadequate luggage.  I pulled out a beige, canvas messenger bag that I used to haul books back and forth to class in grad school.

The significance of this messenger bag lies only in the fact that I have not used it in years.  In it, I placed my hot pink running shoes, gold clutch purse, and two journals that I am currently filling with all of my most "important" thoughts and ideas.

I drove the 4.5 hours to Ann Arbor by myself last Friday, as Jeremiah had left a day before so that he would be able to join the other groomsmen on the golf course early that morning.  I listened to my favorite Pandora stations, sang to myself, talked on the phone, and only stopped once to pee.  By the time I reached our hotel and checked into our room, I knew that a run would be the only cure for the cramps in my legs and back from driving all day.

I rummaged through the contents of the messenger bag, so that I could retrieve my hot pink runners from the bottom.  Instead of finding only the items I had added back home, my fingers brushed across a slip of paper at the bottom of the bag.

The paper was a reservation slip used to reserve a spot to sing a song at Louie's Karaoke Bar in Chicago on North Avenue.  It was written on in Matt's handwriting and said "Matt C and the sistas".

I felt myself gasp, and my hand covered my mouth.  I sat down on the floor and held the crinkled piece of paper to my heart.  I desperately wracked my brain for a memory of a time that I was there with my brother and sister, planning on singing a karaoke song together, but I couldn't recall the evening.

How many years ago was this night?  Why did I have my messenger bag with me?  Did we ever get the chance to sing, or did we lose our nerve?  What song was Matt planning on singing with us?  I wish I could remember these details, but they are lost with Matt.  He would remember.

The thing about Louie's Karaoke, is that it does not hold the type of memories that are easily forgotten.  I have been there dozens of times and vividly remember each of them.  I celebrated one of my best friend's bachelorette parties there.  My dad and I sat and had a beer together at Louie's after my first week of teaching.  Louie's bar serves popcorn all night long, the bartenders are surprisingly good at rapping, and people dance to imperfect voices singing songs that are meaningful enough to take a risk and hold a microphone.

I've sang songs from our college days with my best girlfriends, taken shots to celebrate birthdays, shared happy hour beers, and danced until my feet ached.

The fact that I cannot remember this evening at Louie's with my brother and sister, and the knowledge that Matt is probably the only one who would be able to fill this hole in my memory reminds me of one important truth:

Heaven holds secrets that we might not have answers to here on Earth.  

Some of those secrets are small moments of time, missing from the scrapbooks in our minds.  Some of those secrets are momentous, answers about our fate, knowledge that we need not have.

Matt knows if he was going to sing "To Be With You" or "Man in the Mirror" with his two adoring sisters.  He knows when my broken heart will heal.  He knows if and when God will grace us with the desires of our hearts.  He knows that it is all a part of a perfect plan, with perfect timing.

Sine I've lost my brother, I have spent many hours going through his pictures on Facebook, looking at the belongings in his room, and searching through mementos I have kept.  I have googled his name.  I have reached out to people who he loved and communicated with his friends.  All of these things I have done with the hope that I would come across something that would make me feel close to him again, as close to him as if he were standing next to me, teasing me, laughing with me, shaking me by the shoulders the way he always did when he was trying to get me out of my own head.

I've wanted to feel as close to him as I felt when we were dancing together in bars, talking long-distance over the phone, texting to check on one another, watching movies in the family room, hanging out on the back porch, or laughing together as a family over dinner.

In truth, there is no item that I will come across that will ever make feel as close to my brother as his physical presence once did.  I may continue to find small reminders of him, treasures of our time together, glimpses into his world as the years go by.  These items will be snippets of inspiration, leading me to a more heavenly perspective...just as this little slip of paper did last Friday.

This week, a lost memory of a time at a karaoke bar gives me hope that there are answers waiting for me in Heaven.  Answers are waiting for me in Heaven, and so is my happy, healthy, handsome little brother.

When I go back to Louie's, I know that it will be worth remembering with all of my heart...

Listen to "To Be With You"

Listen to "Man in the Mirror"

Unsettled

This afternoon, I sat in the teacher's lounge and worked with my teammates for three hours on end-of-the-year tasks.  We planned our literacy block for the next school year, organized reading assessments, assigned points to a math test, and even had a little time to chat about the lives that we lead outside the walls of school.  The end of the year brings about a type of busyness that is fueled solely on fumes; the fumes of hope and anticipation of the upcoming summer.

Despite our productivity today, I had the underlying feeling of being "unsettled" while working through my to-do list.  My colleague agreed.  We discussed how perfectly the word "unsettled" described our state of mind.

It's hard to pinpoint exactly where this emotion came from amidst chatting friends, stacks of paper, coffee cups, chocolate, and a to-do list.  We can blame it on the stress, that one particular student about to push us over the edge, an argument with a colleague, or the fact that our tasks are never truly finished.  Or, we can accept that feeling for what it truly is.

I believe that the feeling of being unsettled comes from having an overwhelming amount of life events and factors that we cannot control.  

I am certain that is where our discontentment came from today as we tackled curriculum, problem solved, dealt with student issues, and attempted to tread hard enough to keep our heads above the mounting end-of-the-year tasks.

I also know that we are each, as always, bringing our own set of uncontrollable issues with us to work each day.  However, we have 20 plus children waiting for us, wanting to be entertained, nurtured and taught.  We put on our cute, but functional teacher outfits, drink our Venti coffees, smile, and pretend for the hours that we are in front of our class that we have everything under control.  As a teacher, we do have control.  It is in our daily lives where we desperately reach for the ability to manage life as we would a math lesson.

The biggest control issue that I have in my life right now is the fact that I cannot control or create the happiness and joy that I so desperately wish for my family.  I can't control when and if I become pregnant, I cannot take away my parent's pain over losing their son, I can't manage my sister's life for her, I cannot stop the waves of grief that still hit us full force on a daily basis.  These are simply out of my control.

There is such a multitude of issues that we wish to control and cannot.  Will we find the perfect house, or when will construction be finished?  Will the newest treatment the doctors recommend work?  Will my spouse and I ever find a common ground?  When will that perfect job be offered?  Will my friend/co-worker/family member ever see the pain that they are causing me and apologize?  Could I PLEASE just get some sleep?  These are daily issues that we battle, pray for, and hope to find resolution, yet that end result can never come fast enough.

Maybe instead of wrestling with trying to find answers, control, and soothe our unsettled hearts, we need to sit back and enjoy life for the unfolding story that it is.  I know firsthand that anything I believed with certainty would be, or thought that I had absolute reign over the outcome has happened much differently than I believed it would.

A year ago next weekend, we lost our first and strongest pregnancy.  I was ready to jump back into treatments immediately.  We did for awhile, but then I needed a break.  If you had told me 12 months ago that I would still not be pregnant a year later, I would have lost my mind.  However, that has not been something I have been able to fix, remedy, make better, or to control.

If you had told me 12 months ago, that we were going to move out of our house, tear the roof off, add a second story and move back in, I also would have lost my mind.  But as I sit my sun room to write, and look around at all that we have accomplished, I know that if we had been pregnant this addition that was my husband's dream would have been almost impossible.

I was so unsettled about my brother's addiction, for so many months.  I wanted to lock him in our house, control his every move, and manage his life to keep him safe.  God had other plans, and knew that Matt's safest place was with him in Heaven.  There was nothing I could do to control my brother's addiction.

The moral of the story is that when we feel most unsettled, that might be when God is doing his biggest and greatest works in our lives.  His answers are not always what we wish them to be, or do they come in the time that we want.

What will He do next?  What does our future hold?  We wouldn't be able to handle the knowledge of impending pain, so it is better if we do not.  Surprises are better unspoiled, so let's anticipate the gift of life and all that it offers us.  Let's find a solace in relinquishing control.  We can hand that burden over, it's not in our hands, the responsibility is not ours.   

Instead of allowing ourselves to feel unsettled, we can try to view our lack of control with gratitude and expectant hearts.  

Keep On Dreaming

Late last fall, after a year long hiatus, I was able to listen to music again without relating each song to a memory with my brother or a lyric to my grief.  I downloaded Pandora onto my new iPhone, and fell in love again with the artists and songs that filled my ears.  Over the last few months of construction on my house, as I've painted every square inch of our new rooms, I've felt inspired and touched again by music.  Dave, Van Morrison, David Gray, Norah Jones, Ron Pope, Coldplay, and more country artists than I care to admit have sang to me as Pistachio Cream, Mystic Blue, and Slate Gray were rolled onto the walls of my new home and many of my favorite hoodies.

One country song in particular has popped up several times over the last few weeks.  Eli Young Band's "Even If It Breaks Your Heart" has played more times than most on my favorite station.

Some dreams stay with you forever,

Drag you around but bring you back to where you were.  

Some dreams keep on gettin' better,

Gotta keep believin' if you wanna know for sure.

In that powerful, yet unexpected way that a song can grip you, this one has held me.  

As children, we dream of what we will become when we "grow up".  We dream of falling in love, becoming heroes, joining the ranks of the famous and powerful, or simply being happy.  When we are young and innocent, we can't fathom that a dream will break our hearts.  

I certainly had dreams that came true, and also have some that have not yet come to fruition.  Some are realistic, some are more far fetched.  I dreamed of becoming a teacher, and I am able to type this in the quiet of classroom 211 while my 5th graders are in music class.  I also dreamed that I would become a mom.  I haven't yet opened my eyes to this as a reality.  

This next month will be my last opportunity to try to conceive with one of my own eggs.  It will be our eighth, and doctor recommended, final attempt.  If this time does not work, I will have to alter my dream of motherhood.  It can still come true, but in a way that my seven-year old self did not imagine as I lovingly rocked my baby dolls to sleep and tucked them into doll-sized cribs.  I am at peace with this because I know that in some way, somehow, I will become a mother.  

In dreaming these past few years of becoming a mother, my heart has been broken.  But just as Eli Young Band's song encourages, I couldn't let the dream go.  Even though it breaks my heart, I believe in it.  

As I lay my head on the pillow and close my eyes each night, or my mind wanders while grading papers, or my heart yearns while listening to music, I know that each dream I have, even those that break my heart, are worthy of keeping.  God put those dreams on my heart for a reason.  It would be foolish to let them go.  

At 34, I have my life ahead of me.  Maybe losing my 27-year old brother caused me to believe that I have less years than are truly there.  As I heal, I am realizing that most of us will live to our 28th, 37th, 59th, and 80th years...maybe more.  If I want to become a writer, I have time.  If my sister wants to be an orchestral musician, she has years to continue auditioning.  Matt wanted to become a lawyer, and he believed in it until the day he left us.  

I want to be a mom, and I won't let it go.  My quiet dreams, the ones I keep to myself, I have decades to work to bring them to reality.  If it hurts, they were that important.

Pray about it.  

Write about it.  

Daydream about it.  

Love and cherish it.  

Let it bring you happiness, hoping for it.  

Never let it go.   Even if it breaks your heart.  

If a dream breaks your heart, it's because it meant enough to have that effect on you.  It was, and is worth it. 

   

Listen to: "Even If It Breaks Your Heart"

Advice From a Fifth Grader

In my fifth grade classroom, I try to chose read-alouds that will not only entertain my students, but will also encourage social discussion and provide me with an opportunity to teach compassion and kindness. 

This semester, we are reading a story about a little girl who is homeless.  She lives in a car with her mother and little brother, and their situation is dire.  The little girl, in an attempt to make money for a home, devises a plan to steal someone's dog and then collect the reward money when the owner notices their beloved pet is missing. 

Yesterday, I sat in my director's chair in the reading corner of my classroom and read another chapter of this heart wrenching story to my class.  Twenty-two faces looked up at me from their spots on the carpet, etched with sadness and pain, as I read the part about the little girl washing her hair in the sink at Walgreens, fighting with her mother about how hungry she was, and deciding with finality that she was going to steal a dog. 

As I closed the book on that particular chapter, I asked my class what their thoughts were about the girl and her plan.  Almost every hand shot up in the air.

"No matter what, it's not right to steal someone's dog."
"She is being so mean to her mom, her mom is just trying to do the best she can."
"It would be so terrible to be homeless and hungry." 

And then the most important comment, "Just because you are hurting, it is not ok to hurt someone else."

As their teacher, I felt proud.  They were picking out the main themes of the story, a reading skill that we are currently working on.  More importantly, they are turning into empathetic and kind individuals. 

As an adult, I felt convicted. 

The parallel of this little girl's life and my own is not too abstract of an idea.

Two weeks ago, Jeremiah and I had a healthy egg retrieved, our first one.  It fertilized, was given a high grade, and on a snowy Thursday morning was transferred into me.  As I lay on the doctor's table, the nurse handed me a picture of our embryo.  Jeremiah told me later that I had clutched it to my heart throughout the entire procedure.  I watched on the ultrasound machine as the doctor did our embryo transfer and told me that it couldn't have gone better. 

It doesn't take long for a woman to connect to even just the idea of a baby.  I had a name, I thought I knew what the gender was, and I began to feel like a mom.

However, in the days leading up to the pregnancy test, I started to lose my footing.  I didn't think it worked.  I lost hope.  I got emotional, stressed, worried, and afraid. 

Fear is a common theme for me lately.  I'm still afraid of drugs fifteen months after losing Matt.  I fear failure, change, infertility, childlessness, pain, hurt...I am afraid of a broken heart. 

In my fear, I acted badly.  I was highly sensitive to any words that were said, I cried a LOT more than is normal for me, I shut down, and I pushed away the people who love me.  I didn't answer any phone calls, and I barely responded to texts from girlfriends and family.  I fought with Jeremiah, I snapped at my mom, and I was distracted at work. 

I was trying to hold it together and be tough.  By Thursday morning, the day of my pregnancy test, I was pretty low.

When my phone rang Thursday afternoon, in the middle of a science lab on cell diffusion, my heart skipped a beat.  When I heard the tone in the nurse's voice, my heart sank.  There was no baby. 

Then I walked back into Room 211, and my twenty-two fifth graders, and continued with our science lab.

"This is f*&#ed up," my friend Jessica said when she checked on me after the 3:30 bell.  I couldn't have said it better. 

Still in shock on Thursday night, and not thinking clearly, I did things that I hadn't been able to do for the last month.  I ran and ran and ran while blasting music, and had a glass of whiskey.  Then, Jeremiah took me to dinner to distract me.  But when I woke up to the dark and cold of Friday morning, the reality was too painful.  There was no baby. 

I don't know if that gives me a free pass to be highly sensitive and emotional for a few days or not.  But I do know that my fifth grader saying, "Just because you are hurting, it is not ok to hurt someone else" struck a chord that is still resonating with my soul this Saturday morning. 

I wanted that baby so badly.  I wanted to grow it inside of me, nurture and love a new life, and feel that connection with a child.  I'm so ready.

God said, "Not yet."

So, while I am waiting, I'll run a few more miles, have a couple of drinks, and rest my mind.  I'll try to laugh a little, not be so sensitive, and take deep breaths.  I'll be grateful to take a break from the massive amount of hormones I was taking...and I'm guessing that will help a little too.

I'll hold onto the sweet and innocent words of my fifth graders and apologize to the people I love.

There is no baby, but the moon greets me every night, and the sun rises every morning.  Matt is safe in Heaven, and my family and friends still love me.  There is no baby, but our life is still blessed.  

Just because you are in pain, it's not ok to miss God's hand in your life.