Times get hard sometimes

I sit here writing this looking back this past year or two and think to myself how we allow hard times to take us under and we survive them. Did we witness through them, did we stay strong, did we get weak, or are we just surviving them?

I have had so many good times, but a comparable amount of hard times.

This past week I went to a memorial of a cousin of mine, he was only 41. He lost a 3 year battle due to brain cancer, leaving behind a beautiful wife and two young children. I find it difficult to understand but know the Lord has Matt with him and this brings peace. Its knowing his children will not have their dad in their lives that breaks my heart. These children loved their dad and it breaks my heart for them.

Then right before that one of my uncles passed away. He was in his early 50's. I have so many precious memories as a child with my uncle.

Last year I found out I have heart problems, the meds that help my heart can also have side effects that can kill me so doctor is keeping me off of them as long as he can because the risks are just to high. I inherited our families heart disease problems.
Some other issues I have experienced this past summer I will be talking to doctor about this week.

There have been many hard times in between all the others. I admit I am struggling with some of the things and keep much of it buried inside, but am also trying to trust God through it.

This week my hubby got a possible blood clot and this scared me. I couldn't imagine losing him. My stress level is high with worry. I love him and feel scared something might happen to him. But praying God will see him through this.

Plus little miracle Madi has been struggling with her shunt and so worry about her.

Then my mom has been having some small strokes and this worries me.

Just one thing or another please keep my family in your prayers.

Failure: a fathers story..written by my husband in writing class

Failure: a fathers story (written in 2010)

by Brian Glynn

There was me. I was the second of three children. The one some experts call "the invisible child". Too old to need the nurturing of the youngest, but not yet old enough to need the guidance and the attention of the eldest. And there was him, my father. He was always there, but never "there". He decided to follow his life's dream of becoming a doctor at the age of 32. I vividly remember him being there; present with us, but the interactions were few, short and for the most part, forgettable. Many times I remember looking at him and he would have his face buried in a book or magazine, oblivious to what was happening around him. This scenario, played out over and over again during my childhood, though I did not think anything of it at the time would impact me repeatedly throughout my life. As I spent a great deal of time alone, I learned to do things myself and for myself. I would grow up to become a very self centered person.

Fast forward 12 years. I was sitting in a chair eating a cheeseburger and fries. He has just finished making his way across the floor and was next to my leg. With great determination he pulled himself up to standing. As I looked down I saw him staring intently at me, as if to say "Are you gonna eat all of those yourself?" His name was Justen. He was around 18 months old and was the son of my girlfriend, Mary. As I had never been in a relationship involving a child, I had centered my attention more on Justens mother than on Justen, but I did know some things about him. He was born premature and has some setbacks. His development progressed slower than other children of comparable age. He could stand with support, but showed no inclination to walk. He was not verbal at all. He could make noises, but did not repeat or say words. He has one of the sweetest dispositions of any child I had met. I handed him a fry and watched as intently inspected it. Meeting his approval he quickly put it in his mouth. and proceeded to squat back to a crawling position and continue contentedly back across the floor. I did not really know this child but my heart went out to him. As he moved away I pondered his future. How would he learn to walk? Would he be able to run?

As I sat there thinking, a memory of my father and I crept out of the shadows of my mind. It was a familiar memory that came to life when I thought of fathers and sons sharing time together. Familiar not just because it was one of my favorite memories, but also because there were so few others to choose from. We were on one of the greatest adventures of my young life. The whole family was canoeing and camping for two weeks in Minnesota. My father had taken me fishing. It was the only time I remember that happening. Though most of the trip was spent in silence, my father has selected me from the other children to take out as a fishing companion, which made the trip memorable. At first I thought it was just a fond memory resurfacing, but quickly it turned into something I had never experienced before. I had an urge to reach out to Justen in the ways I had yearned for my father to reach out to me. I wanted to pass apart of myself to him. I wanted to teach him, guide him and watch him as he grew and learned and applied himself. The raw emotion that welled up inside of me with these realizations stunned me at first. He has been in my life such a short time, I did not think that I had any real attachment with this child, yet here I was thinking about his future, and my involvement in it. "Maybe this is how my father felt, but could not express."  As I was still young, I had not made any real plans for my future at this point, but I knew one thing was for sure, that no matter how long I was in this child's life, I was determined to at least be a good role model and someone he could count on, no matter what. I was determined that no crisis in his life, be it a bruised knee or a bruised heart would escape my notice and involvement.

So over the next 6 years there were many trips to the doctor' office, local parks and  playgrounds and a sprinkling of school concerts and plays. Things were going well. I was a proud and involved father. Then the news came. Mary and I were going to have another child. Although I had Justen in my life for 6 years, this was my first experience with pregnancy and childbirth. Julionna came just as expected and I now had two children to watch over. The first year was hard with Julionna. Much to my disappointment, I found out quickly that all she needed right now was her mother. She smiled and cooed at me when I was around, but had no real need of me. I loved her with all of my heart, but we did not form a real bond until after the birth of our third child. It came as a surprise when we discovered Mary was pregnant again, three months early at 2 Ibs, 10 oz. Mary was in the hospital for three days after Gabriel was born. Every night I would lay Julionna on my chest and sleep with her there all night. During those nights, now that she was daddy's girl, I could contemplate what it was to be the father of a little girl. How I could help her to be smart, proud and independent. I knew there was nothing I would not do for this little girl. I wanted to be her hero, her role model her world. I steeled my mind and heart to being there for my children no matter what.

Gabriel was very premature. He was rushed to the NICU immediately after his birth. My heart would literally break when they would draw his blood (they did this daily). As they would prick his tiny foot, black with bruising from all of the poking and squeezing, he would wince and cry out in pain. It was so hard to endure because he had no voice yet. His lungs were developed for breathing, but not enough to create sufficient force for vocalization. We pushed and prodded doctors and nurses for two longs months trying to get our son stable so we could bring him home. All of the worrying and stress helped reinforce my commitment to mold, nourish and protected this fragile life, and the other two I had committed myself to.

Being a good father to one child is relatively easy. Two is still not very taxing mentally, emotionally or physically. Now I found myself with three independent spirits, all equally demanding of me and my affections in three completely individual and unique ways. I found myself shutting down and shutting out more and more often. I had to work harder at excelling at work to try to get noticed and compete for any promotions to help pay the way for this much expanded family. I never seemed to have any down time to decompress for myself. I started to slowly disengage from my children. I found myself saying things and making excuses that, although I did not realize it at the time, were oddly familiar. Looking into their pleading eyes I would say seemingly innocent things such as "Daddy's tired. We can color tomorrow: or "Just give me a few more minutes to finish this", for the third time when asked to play a game. Sometimes I wanted to just sit and not think about anything at all. I never realized the slow, painful path I was taking with my relationship with our children. I was not able to make the connection between my actions and those painful memories of long ago. If given the opportunity and motive, I could remember my own pain and bewilderment as I wondered why my father would not play with me, but opportunity and motive were worlds away from my current reality. When Mary's water suddenly broke 16 weeks into her pregnancy with Mariah. She had been having complications through much of this pregnancy. Mary went on bed rest, and I tried to step up and help out, but still found it hard to engage with my own children. I could find distractions and get them to play with each other, but I never seemed to play with them myself, as there was still  "so much to do around here." When Mariah was born around 21 weeks gestation, she lived a few short hours. We held her and caressed her, but knew there was nothing we could do or have done that would save her. The feelings of helplessness of watching this life you created slowly ebb and fade before your very eyes is absolutely soul crushing. Suddenly you realize all of the plans that you secretly made for this little life that you did not even realize until this moment. To be able to do nothing to stop it absolutely infuriated me. After laying Mariah to rest, I swore a personal oath to myself that I would not let that happen to another one of my children. I re-affirmed the conviction I made those many years ago watching that little boy crawl away from me with his french fry. I would be there for them, I would nurture them. Young lives are precious and fragile and our time with them may be only fleeting. There sometimes is no tomorrow. Sometimes things cannot wait until later. Sometimes there is only here and now. You never know when it is to late, so you have to live every moment you possibly can like tomorrow will never arrive. Though, when our youngest, Paul was born, I again started down the familiar path that would slowly consume my time and my mind and allow me to drift away from closeness I longed to nurture between our children and myself. Fortunately for me, my children and wife were tolerant of my self indulgent nature and able to extend to me much undeserved grace and show me the love and attention they expected from me in return.

Though I set out to have better relationships with my children than my father did with me, I have not always been successful. Because my family had been patient and forgiving, I have been allowed to "reset" my priorities several times in response to my reactions to changes in our lives. Whenever I would feel overwhelmed and start to shut down, my wife and children would reach back out to me and draw my focus back to them. Maybe this is the difference between my relationship with my father, and my relationship with my own children. This desire to be more involved with my children than my father was with me has led me to the understanding that maybe the missing element was not my fathers desire to reach out to me, but rather my fear to reach out to my father. The failing in the relationship I longed for with my father was just as much my own fault as it was his. I don't know if changing things now would make us closer than we are, but the feelings I have for my father have changed. I went through anger, to bitterness, to indifference, now to empathy, for I could not imagine a life in which my children did not demand my attention from me. What a lonely life that would be. Only the testimonies of my children, when reflecting back on their own childhood, will tell if I have been successful or not. For now their smiles, hugs and kisses as I pray with them every night will have to suffice.