beccalynncreates

[beccalynncreates]

A Cycle of Truth

The first time my kids walked into California’s Lego Store at Downtown Disney, their feet stuck to the floor. Their eyes panned from wall to ceiling the bins of Legos. Slowly they turned to see tables filled with Legos. The floor allowed their feet to move as they began to explore the shelves stuffed with Lego kits to be purchased and blithely taken home to be constructed.

Our relationship with the amount of information we have access to is similar. How to process it all? What is a conspiracy theory and what is truth? How to tell the difference. What to do if it Feels true?

How did we even get to this reality of multiple truths?

Before The Plague our relationship with truth was based on nature. What we could see, taste and touch. Anything outside of that was ethereal. The Gods or Spirits were in control of it.  As plagues and natural disasters happened throughout history, our relationship with Nature changed.

We asked questions.

We developed answers.

Those answers worked until the next natural disaster or plague.

Then…

We asked more questions.

We revised old answers.

We created new answers to new questions.

Our cycle of thought  continued until The Great Plague. It birthed the Renaissance, which  changed everything. By 1715-1789 the way we thought about the natural world bloomed into the Age of Enlightenment. All those questions and answers, the seeds of Socrates, Plato, Aristotle, and Ptolmey fed Galileo, Newton, Freud, Jung, and the list goes on.

Truth was no longer absolute. Truth became relevant to the facts presented.

What was once a Brontosaurus is now an Apatosaurus body with a possible Camarasaurus head.  

Pluto was a planet. Then it wasn’t. Then it was.Tomorrow…?

The Enlightenment wove together centuries of philosophy, religion, science and art, birthed from the Renaissance, into a streamlined conclusion. It is a rubric we all still work from to this day.

Our current Scientific Method.

Critical Thinking

Skepticism

Rationalizing

Natural History

Liberalism

The Constitution

Separation of Church and State

I could go on, but it is a deep rabbit hole and that’s what you have the internet for.

With all of the political and social unrest of late, I keep hearing the terms “Critical Thinking” and “Bias” thrown around. It only adds to the information confusion. Why?

Because Truth is relative to the experience of the listener, based on the rules the Age of Enlightenment gave us. Truth is filtered through the lense of our own experiences, thoughts, philosophies, pain, pleasures and beliefs. These terms thrown around are meaningless words if no one takes the time to define them.

For me, they sound like a long list of criticisms in a never ending argument:

“Check your bias.”

“Think critically.”

“Have common sense.”

“Ya Snowflake!”

“Ok Boomer!”

And scene.

It is right here that I, and most people, STOP.

They walk away from the conversation.

Why?

No one is listening.

The first rule of the Age of Enlightenment is forgotten: to be ENLIGHTENED. To be curious. To learn. Take a step back and weigh all the possibilities. The consequences of harm or benefit. During the 1700s, people would gather in Coffee Houses simply to talk about opposing views. Do openly discuss and disagree.

However, they did not argue. They debated. The difference?

An argument is when two people are talking to prove their own point and not listening to the other. They don’t agree and oftentimes walk away angry.

A debate is when two people are exchanging ideas, listening and considering the other person’s point of view. They never have to agree, however they do walk away on friendly terms.

In a debate, we learn. We expand our knowledge, empathy, and the ability to form relevant truth.

Add in the plethora of information in media, internet, podcasts, books, journalism, etc? How does anyone make any sense of it?

Here is where I start:

First I define terms:

What does Bias mean?

Bias a person’s view of the world. It is our nature for the world to bend to our senses. Our Ego desires everything to match up with how we think.

“If everyone would just do what I tell them, life would be much better.”

The way we process information is the same way. Our Ego has an idea. It begins to look for evidence to support this idea. The more it looks for evidence, the more it sees, the more the Ego feels safer and stronger in it’s point of view. This process is called Confirmation Bias.

Confirmation Bias is the beginning of my Critical Thinking process. When a piece of information comes my way, I stop and consider.

Do I immediately FEEL like it’s right? (red flag)

Do I immediately agree with it? (yellow flag)

Does it make me curious? (green flag)

How I respond determines how I investigate. If I respond in a Red or Yellow flag way, I know that my Confirmation Bias has kicked in. I need to take a step back and look at some facts. Sometimes that means looking into opposing viewpoints. However, I keep an eye out for emotional language and absolutes in their perspective. If I hear either one, I skip to the next piece of information. I try to set my Confirmation Bias, Emotions and Beliefs aside while I am information gathering.

What does Critical Thinking mean?

Once I have identified my personal Bias, I can apply Critical Thinking. My recipe for processing the information I gathered is this:

Occam’s Razor: basically states, “the simplest solution is most likely the right one.”

Balanced with Newton’s Third Law: “Every action has an equal and opposite reaction”

With a dash of Murphy’s Law “Anything that can go wrong will go wrong.”

My Working Conclusion is the end result. I call it a Working Conclusion because it isn’t final. My conclusion can change based on new information. If I call it an absolute Conclusion I am giving into my Confirmation Bias and no longer thinking critically. I want to stay as far away from the  slippery slope to “Snowflake/ Ok Boomer” land, which leads absolutely nothing productive.

It is great to have ideas and think them all the way through to a working conclusion, but what then? How do I turn the idea into something productive? This is honestly the most important part for me. Whatever the end result of my Critical Thinking journey, it should help increase my empathy for others while learning to extend grace to myself. From that point I can create a plan of action.

It is a swamp of overwhelming information out there. The trickiest part is figuring out how to get through it all with sanity, while remembering to Love my neighbor as Myself.

That is what Tenacious Optimism looks like.

[beccalynncreates]

Quarantine Sunshine

This is a really rough season on all of us. I felt like we were stuck in the Muppets Treasure Island scene, where the ship is stuck in the doldrums. Just like the seafaring Sailors of old dealt with it all the time.

The wind would stop.

The ship would stall, and the only thing the sailors could see for miles around was the ocean horizon.

The human brain is engineered for connection and learning. To be trapped in the same environment for days or even weeks to months on end traps our biology in a hell of our own making. These poor sailors would cope by telling tales, and sometimes by seeing mythological creatures like Mermaids that would call them into the sea.

Sailors, feeling trapped and helpless, looking for connection, novelty and adventure would jump into the sea deceived by their own delusions. They believed their feelings over the facts of the situation they were in.

Muppets Treasure Island, of course, has a brighter solution. The instruments come out and they all sing a song. The fantastic musical number is complete with a conga line!

During the Homeschool years, often the four of us would be stuck at home. Either I was having a fibromyalgia flare, stuck in the Mom taxi driving kids to their usual round of commitments, or a kid or two was ill with the current trending virus. Sometimes, the weather would be a factor.

All of us cooped up.

Feeling trapped.

As if we couldn’t go anywhere.

Arguments would start. Tempers would shorten. Problems would magnify.

My antidote?

Play.

We would start with a list of possibilities. Things I knew we were able to do. They could be preposterous. However, if we really wanted to do them it was possible.

This list of fantastical things then became a brainstorm of How To accomplish those things:

Blanket Fort

Ice cream for Lunch.

Picnic on the floor

Movie

Walk outside

Wear a crown.

Call a friend

Raid the pantry and look up recipes for the ingredients you have.

We mixed the Fun with a list of To-Dos. Music was our measurement of time. We would race to finish the Job, THEN the game began.

Now the kids are adults, I practice the same thing for myself. Sometimes it is just a song or a single task with a fun To Do at the end. It is a Practically Perfect in Every Way Self Care Habit.

For daily practice, to keep my sour attitude in check, I keep track of what I am grateful for. I either keep a journal, a jar with a stack of paper. Anytime something good happens, no matter how small, I write it down and put it in the jar. When I am feeling disconnected and melancholy, I look through the journal or reflect on what is in the jar.

Sometimes I need a little bit more. The Isolation feels overwhelming and no matter what I “do” to lift my own mood, I plummet like a lead balloon.

I begin to the Big Practices out to deal with myself.

First, I remind myself:

Feelings aren’t facts.

Just because I feel

Lonely

Isolated

Disconnected

Abandoned

Trapped

Held hostage

On the edge of economic collapse

Facing financial ruin, etc.

It doesn’t mean I am. I take a step back from what I am feeling and make a list of the facts of the situation I am in.

Fact:  

A highly contagious respiratory flu virus.

So new, science is having a hard time collecting data about it.

New discoveries are being made every day.

It is difficult to treat.

It is unpredictable.

It could kill my neighbor.

The medical system is asking that I help stop the spread,

Fact:

Staying home and protecting myself WHEN I go into public is a service to my neighbor and myself.

When I take a step out of my feelings and look at facts, I am able to put my feelings in perspective. This allows me to ask the right questions:

What do I need?

I need connection

How can I get what I need?

Make a phone call/facetime.

Write a letter.

Start a theme, photo, favorite song, movie, etc.  on social media to get people talking.

Check in with neighbors and add their items to my list when shopping. This simplifies community marketing visits. Check in with your neighbors. See who is vulnerable and offer to run errands for them.

For those of you who are well and wouldn’t put anyone at risk of exposure, look into volunteering in our community.

These are small practices that ease daily tensions. Tune in tomorrow for my Big Practices that I use to anchor me in long, agonizing seasons like the one we are in.

Our emotional health in the situation of Chronic Isolation, Social Isolation or Quarantine is important. Another HUGE challenge is how to anchor ourselves in this monotonous loop of time.

Have you ever wondered:

Have we as a Human Race always been this way?

Why do we even have a calendar or a clock?

For Centuries the Human Race measured time by an intrinsic rhythm. Different cultures, villages, people groups, even our pioneers created their own systems of tracking time as a community. At that time individuals of the community produced products at home then traded with others for mutual benefit. Communities agreed on systems based on the seasons and for an ability to relate with one another. It was all cooperative.

The initial wave of The Black Death hit the world in 1361. The last outbreak of The Black Death in 1665–66 created a final shift in how we did things. As farms stood empty, famine was rampant. The economy was devastated because of the massive loss of life. People gathered together to create a solution. Villages formed into Cities and the services of the Local Tradesmen became obsolete as their product became mass produced.

This created room for a revolution. An Industrial Revolution.

Necessity was the Mother of Invention and birthed machinery. Which provided jobs. This, in turn, created a more affordable product. More products needed more workers, this created more jobs. Away the Revolution went!

Of course, it was destructive to the surviving status quo. Farmers revolted against factories. Tradesmen attacked laborers. Over time, the reason to get out of bed and work was no longer intrinsic.

The reason to get out of bed became extrinsic; people left home for a job. The entire cultural motivation shifted from inward to outward. When people finish their careers and retire from this Extrinsic Industrial Machine, they struggle with what we are facing now.

Stuck at home. No “purpose.” No way to tell the days apart. No motivation to create a What’s Next.  So how to regain this Intrinsic Motivation?

Create our own rhythms.

Housewives did it for Centuries. I remember how my Grandma talked about the Days of the week:

Tuesday was Garbage Day.

Wednesday was Laundry Day.

Thursday was Market Day.

Saturday was Yard Day.

Sunday was for Church.

Well into her 70s and after quite a few strokes,  according to my Uncle, she was never wrong about what day Tuesday was. It was Garbage Day. She didn’t know much other than that.

For me, when days blurred together, I create a schedule. When the kids were schooling, it was a chart. A timer was used for each subject, when the bell went off we moved on. Some days were more flexible than others. That simple chart and annoying bell created a rhythm for me to mark time in my day.

I have a self-employed Work Schedule now. I am struggling just like you to figure out what works. I schedule the projects like appointments, and yes, I am using a timer.  I do not allow interruptions, just as if I was in an office. My time is mine to do with as I decide is the most productive. Interruptions need to take a number and wait for their turn.

For the Household Chores schedule, I use it to mark the days of the week. Acting like I am working a full-time job in my home, I paced out the house chores. I broke them up into Everyday Morning and Evening. Once A Week, about 4 days, and Once a Month-which is a “swing day” 5. The nice thing about this efficient schedule is if it doesn’t happen this week? Not a problem. I’ll catch it next week. Cleaning doesn’t take me more than an hour to an hour and a half total at most in an entire day.  Remember, there is no right or wrong way to do a schedule. It’s important to figure out what works for you. Where your sweet, comfortable spot of sanity is.

The great thing about this season of Quarantine is all of the things we get to put into practice now we are able to and take into the future when “life gets back to normal. The practice of  gratitude, community, having your own time, rhythm, and adventure?

This is what Tenacious Optimism looks like.

[beccalynncreates]

He said we’d grown apart.

He said he needed to get on with his path.

He said I needed to get on with mine.

So I had purge the house to Force my brain to settle into this reality. Through the purge the small goal focus was my birthday. Then the small goal focus wast to get to my birthday party.

Sunday it was two weeks.

14 days since the formal good bye.

The last time I had to duck the wrecking ball.

I've missed the human inside that wrecking ball for 16 years. I miss the hope he would break free from his wrecking ball prison. I miss the rhythm of the wrecking ball swinging through the door.

It's now quiet but also unsettling.

Yesterday Sunday was my first day to try and sit in it.

After my birthday day filled the house with small family laughter.

After my birthday party filled the house with friendship, love and laughter.

After two weeks of constant people cleaning, helping, holding, crying and yelling. Helping me sort my thoughts and focus. Finding my way forward.

To sit in this quiet of a simple, uncluttered, loved filled, safe for me space.

And try... For me... To breathe.

I did it.

And I felt the breath of a huge black holey tornado of pain/rage/terror wheeling around.

Yoga Soulie says yes, we can process these big ugly scary feeling away safely and it won't eat me up. Other Soulies say I don't have to make people feel ok about the shitstorm I'm in. Special Quiet Soulies sit with me in the night and catch all my terrifying dreamy words.

Healing takes time. Honesty takes bravery. Change takes strength. Recovery takes tenacious optimism. And Love softens all the jaggy edges. Hang in there. Broken things can mend. Be Gentle With Yourself

[beccalynncreates]

Out of the Mire and Fog

Just when I found my voice and gathered all the courage to begin writing on a regular basis, life changed.

The oldest son graduated high school.

The second son graduated high school

The third daughter graduated Jr. high and entered high school.

Three graduations in three years. Three life launchings, one on top of the other. No time to cry or process it all because they needed me.

To sort out adulating.

To ask the difficult questions.

To give those boys the appropriate ass kicking when they bogged down in the muck of it all. Wanting to party instead of work. Spending hours gaming and creating virtual relationships while not leaving their bedroom for days.

Mutant, the husband, going through his own transition. Still struggling with being an adult. Wanting to drink all the stress away. Shutting down in his introvert tower and not speaking for weeks.

And me…

The constant stress and instability made living with Fibromyalgia difficult. The reality of how little control I held in my struggling hands. Redefining my meaning in life now that my job as Mom is evolving.

What is my purpose?

What do with I do with my life now?

Wanting to art. Yearning to write. But not feeling safe in any of it. Mostly because for the three boys-yes I count Mutant with them-tapped every ounce of my creative energy. Living on the edge of watching their disaster. Holding onto hope with bloody fingers.

Then the daughter. Watching the three struggle and not wanting to follow their path. She made a plan. Her focus and drive was refreshing, but exhausting to keep up with. Many conversations colored with grace as we talk about her mistakes. How to explain to a young teen about forgiveness with boys who aren’t interested in reconciliation.

But the fog seems to be parting. Oldest is consistently doing well in school. He has friends in the Real. Second wants to do well and as far as I can tell mostly gets all the work done. Both boys are working on healing the relationship with Sister.

Sister loves and is thriving in high school. Treating those around her with grace and encouragement. All while texting me snarky comments about how Romeo and Juliette are stupid because they are completely illogical.

And Mutant. He’s still finding his way. In his tower, alone. We’ve had a few good moments, but marriage is hard. I never understood how hard until now. With an empty nest on the horizon.

That’s me today. I plan on finishing the story of how I lost my family. I’m also hoping to use this space to sort through the lessons I’ve learned the last two years. Allowing my soul to breathe a little and figure out what I want to do when I grow up.

[beccalynncreates]

Remember to be kind to elephants. Those gatherings with family, filled with nog, lights and family. Be gentle with yourself. 

[beccalynncreates]

'Tis the Season

Ahhh... the holidays. Time filled with choosing the joy and setting aside the pain. Each year, from Halloween to New Year's, my heart braces for the loneliness and focuses on the now.

The Counting Mutant who loves me in quiet ways.

The Ase, Zany and Girly who make life an adventure.

THIS is my family.

There is something a little soul splitting when I think of The Parentals, Two, Three and Four as my family of Origin. Although Three and I have a pretty good relationship, it is still filled with shadows. I consistently remind myself they are living the lives they chose and I must respect it.  

So, even though I did well during Thanksgiving week, it all caught up to me last week. As my mind walked through the shadowy mire of the past, I focused on the first candle of Advent-Hope. 

Longing for them is still there, and the ideal of an honest family relationship with them not possible, Hope is something I struggle with.

"Hope deferred makes the heart sick..."

After wrestling with it for a week, we came to an understanding.

This week is Nutcracker Counting Mutant, Zany and Girly are in it. It is the first year Ase is not. It is different, but as each kid begins to make their own choices toward adulthood, I feel hope. When they laugh at me in the wings I feel love. It eases the ache of deferred hope.

This is my family.Here and now is where I need to be. This story will still be rattling around in my head next week.

In the mean time, dance with some flowers. Find a Sugar Plum Fairy or attend a Party Scene. Let the music fill your soul.

For all the World is a stage...

[beccalynncreates]

Bitter with A Touch of Sweet

Four and her stuff settled into our little apartment, the five us began life together. My desire was to keep her moving forward. Letting healing flow, creating a plan for her future and letting the dust from the past fall where it may.

First was the big question Mutant asked, “If there was anything you thought was impossible for you to do, what would it be?”

Four’s answer was to work with dolphins in the Navy. She never considered herself capable to go into the military. The brainstorming began: it would get her out of town. The Navy would give her opportunities for education. Four grew excited.

The boy she was dating throughout the year made a difficult announcement. This boy who made living worth while, who treated her with love and respect in her darkest moments needed to move on. It was a final blow to Four’s heart.

Sleep was a struggle for her. Four and Dog would stay up very late, make up her bed in the living room then sleep late in the morning. The toddler Ase and Zany were up at the crack of dawn every day. We would sneak downstairs. Quickly and quietly we would eat our breakfast. Dog would pace the floor, anxious to be let out. I did my best to let Dog be Four’s responsibility but every once in a while I would cave and take her out.

On occasion she would catch me and I would get in trouble. Then we three would either go for a walk or go back upstairs to play until Four was ready to face the day.

Grief is an ugly beast and I understood it would take time for her to find her way. We looked in to grief recovery groups, but she didn’t fit there. Rooms filled with older people having lost a spouse didn’t know how to respond to Four’s story. So, with our limited resources it was church, Mutant and I.

Birth Father threw a curve ball and decided to fight the adoption.

Her few college classes began, but struggled. With only one car between the three of us, Four used public transportation or rides from friends. It wasn’t long before she burst through the door one day and said,

“Guess what?!! I did it! I signed up for the Navy.”

[beccalynncreates]

The Collection of a Saturday

It was Saturday morning: time for cartoons, breakfast and Four facing my parents. I wrestled with my own feelings, because it wasn’t my fight. This wasn’t my problem. I had no business being involved in the issues of Four and Parentals.

But, Four asked to be picked up. She asked to stay.

Mutant and I decided that he and four alone should take care of this trip. Mutant was the quiet muscle following Four’s orders of box belongings and moving furniture. My heart skipped a beat as I said goodbye to them both and began to pray for peace.

The boys played on the floor. Dog chewed a few wooden blocks. I cleared out a closet. I moved things around in the garage to make a “room.”

A few hours later they returned.

Four’s fiery red hair a blaze. Mutant quietly seethed.

Of course it was not an ideal situation. Everyone was hurting. I took a while before they said much at all. We all working together unloading and organizing Four’s few belongings.

Then the story began. Mutant tried to stay out of my Dad’s way as much as he could. Dad talked non-stop and Mutant used his Introversion super power to keep from responding. This was Four’s deal. She, Dad and Mom had a few words while Mutant loaded.

With the final box in hand, Dad stepped in the way of Mutant. Looked him dead in the eye and said, “I hope someday someone takes you child away from you. I hope someday Ase and Zany plot together and destroy the family you’ve worked so hard to build. I hope that they will abandon you.”

Mutant stood for a moment in his Mind Palace considering a response. Then he said, “You know Dad. I do not accept that. AND IF Bec and I act as crazy as the two of you have been I would hope they would be there for each other. I would hope they would stand together and live better than we did. IF they do turn on us, we will have deserved it.”

Dad stood their blinking

Mutant carried the box to the car and waited until Four was ready to leave.

[beccalynncreates]

The Morning After

Once the tears dried, Mutant, Four and I began the process of the evening.

Then the phone began to ring.

My heart hurt for my Mother. I knew she didn’t know what she was doing. That Four took seriously what was a bluff for some unseemly behaviour. I knew my Mom would be up all night. She wouldn’t trust that Four was safe.

Mom had lost control.

The messages upset the boys, not really understanding what was going on. Four couldn’t deal with answering the constant stream. So we turned the ringer off.

In the quiet, Four curled up with her Dog and cried.

By morning the decision was made. Four didn’t want to go home. She wanted to live with us. More healing needed to happen and that would be impossible with Parentals and Three trying to work out what was next for them.

We listened to the messages. My heart broke hearing the complete, all night meltdown of my Mother. What was happening so beyond her comprehension. She would not ever be able to understand the need for space was not personal. Her accusations flew from mere my mere interference to complete accusations of destroying her family.

My poor sweet fractured Mother.

Four finally called and informed Mom of her choice: to move out and face life on her own. Mutant and I began to discuss boundaries. First, the where: The boys now bigger, needed the playroom up stairs. Four would have the futon and we would convert a spot in the garage for her furniture. A little space of her own to be quiet.

It was the best we had to offer.

Second the When: Mutant and Four made plans to go to Parentals and pick up her stuff the next day- a Saturday that happened to be my Dad’s birthday. My heart ached.

Third the What Now: Mutant asked her the question he’d wished to hear at her age: If there was anything you ever thought was impossible what would it be? We would do whatever it took to help her get there. Four had no answer, but we did a bit of hope filled brainstorming.

In that numb aftermath of the rest of the day,

Four walked Dog. Mutant went to work. Boys played. And with a heart holding its breath I acted like everything was fine.

[beccalynncreates]

Taking a Breath

I had to take a break today. It is such a long story and sometimes I get lost in the feelings that resurface. 

I needed to breath.

Laugh.

Play with my kids.

And walk the dogs.

Simply be in the here and now. Soaking in the family I have. Not the family I lost. Giving myself permission to walk through this, with out judgment weighs on me.

"Hope deferred  makes the heart sick..." Proverbs 13:12

So I needed to chose Hope today and let Loss sit in the corner for a while.

[beccalynncreates]

Nuclear Spaghettios

Hanging up the phone with Four, I felt my heart shatter. Nothing would be the same again. We only had one car, and Counting Mutant had it. I filled him in: “I don’t know exactly what is going on, but Four believes Mom kicked her out. Can you please go get her?”

Mutant was not surprised. He sighed, “Yes. I’ll be home soon.”

The boys still napping, I sank onto the bed, that silent house alone. My hopes shattered. Feeling terror at what this fall out would look like. I sobbed.

I heard the boys’ call from their room. Wiping away the tears, I got them up and began our normal evening routine. Soon the two of them walked through the door: Four looking a mixed of dazed, angry and broken.

With the boys quietly playing on the floor, we sat down.

Steadying myself for the answer, I asked, “What happened?”

Four explained; it all started with a can of 123, ABC Spaghettios.

It seemed that Three craved Spagehettios and my Mom had a coupon. While Four was putting the groceries away, the can caught her of guard. Solid in the anger stage of grief, the realization hit, Four would never teach her daughter ABCs or 123s. Another woman would. Another family would watch her discover life. Four would simply be an observer but not really a participant in the little things.

In her 18 year old grief fueled angst, she turned to my Mom and began to vent. Mom took it as a personal attack. Three attacked Four for being mean and ungrateful to Mom. Four claimed that Three always gets away with everything Mom came back at Four accusing her of disrespect and dishonoring. Four defended herself and continued to talk about the grief of losing a child. Three challenged Four’s loyalty to the child and gloated a little about keeping hers.

Four hit Three.

Mom walked to her room. Grabbed a suitcase and asked her to find someone else who would put up with her attitude and disrespect AND you never hit a pregnant woman.

“What do you want to do?” I asked.

“Stay here. Sleep.” Four said.

“You are an adult and I will respect what ever choices you want to make. Do you want me to call them? To let them know you are spending the night?” I gently asked.

Four’s shoulders slumped. With a sigh, “I can’t deal with them right now. Can we call them tomorrow?”

[beccalynncreates]

A Cry From the Edge of a Black Hole

My breath caught, “What’s going on Four?”

In the past, Four would call me in hysterics about something Parentals or a Sister did to her. We would talk about it, define boundaries, and then gently strategize her next action within that family system.

But something in tone of her voice…

I could hear Mom and Three intelligibly yelling at her. There was veracity in their tones I hadn’t heard before.

With a new panic in her voice, Four said, “Mom just kicked me out. You HAVE to come get me.”

“What do you mean?” I was cautious. Four was only a month and a half into being 18. With so many emotions, I doubted her clarity of thinking.

Four took a breath, “Mom put a suitcase at my feet and told me to find someone else who could deal with living with me.”

My room spun. The relationship with Parentals was tenuous, but still salvageable. I had respected all of the requests. My heart held hope that one day I would be able to have a real, honest, loving relationship with them.

IF I did this: IF I rescued her, any hope of a healthy reconciled relationship would be lost forever.

IF I didn’t: Four wouldn’t survive. I could hear it in her voice.

The verse in Luke 14:24 came to mind: “If anyone comes to Me and does not hate his father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and his own life also, he cannot be My disciple.”

Then the simple question whispered in my mind, “What do you love more Bec? The possible relationship with Parentals? OR Giving Four a place to heal?”

My Mother got on the phone and began yelling at us both. She demanded to take Four to the Counselor so they could resolve this. Three still yelled in the background.

“Please Bec. Come get me! I can’t go see Counselor. NOT again. Please.” Four frantically pleaded.

Counting the cost. Understanding what it meant for me-I would never have a loving relationship with my Mother. She would never forgive me for this. When it came down to it, Dad would side with her, so I would loose him too. Staring into that familial black hole I said,

“Ok. Let me call Mutant.”

[beccalynncreates]

Where We Stood

Here is where we all stood:

My Mom- only able to physically deal with one thing at a time: Not able to be a grandmother to my kids because she was still raising her kids. If she worked at 5:00 pm that day, it meant nothing else could be accomplished; not laundry or marketing or anything. She worked late because Mom decided that working while SisterFour was in school would be disruptive. What if Four needed to come home sick, or had an appointment? Her focus was singular.

SisterFour-Did the “right thing.” Carried a baby for nine months, gave birth to it and trusted that baby to adoptive parents. Then Four graduated high school four weeks later. Her heart grieved the loss of ten little fingers and toes. Four often told me about how proud Mom was of her. How Mom would do little nurturing things.

Dad talked about how unexpectedly emotional this whole process was.

And

SisterThree- It seemed all the gossip we’d heard was true. She was a partier and a bit wild. The truth of Three’s pregnancy was out and loud in the open. In her fifth month, Dad took her home to live with Mom and Four.

Three used some of the maternity clothes Four wore only a few months before. Mom and Dad began working on Three for her to do the “right thing” and give up the baby. Three was fierce in her stance that this was her mess and the consequences were her responsibility.

She was keeping THIS baby.

It was mostly quiet in my life for a little while. Occasionally Four would update me- Three made it clear, my help was not needed or welcome.

Four’s voice quiet and frustrated, she would tell me:

How she felt she’d lost Mom. Three would ask Four to go shopping for baby things, then get mad when Four said no. My Mom trying to keep up with a right daughter and a wrong daughter. Dad was gone a lot. I think he was simply trying to stay out of ground zero and the emotional shrapnel.

One summer afternoon, the boys just down for a nap, the phone rang. I answered it. In the back ground I could hear two people yelling. Through the reciever, Four’s voice broken with sobs said,

“Please come get me.”

[beccalynncreates]

The Stare Off

The next morning, the boys safely in the care of someone I went to the hospital. I stood at the foot of her bed and we just looked at each other.

I had no words for her. Selfishly, I was angry for being put in this position. Frustrated, no matter how I tried to stay out of the middle, they pulled me in. Somehow it was my fault.

It was my fault she was in this position. My blunder caused this to go on for so long. If I had simply told them shortly after I knew, They could have confronted Three and solved her problem.

But…

Three’s voice would again be in defense of her actions. So often, Three would create a scenario where she would be found out, confronted and conscience cleared.

This way, she was in charge of her direction. It was time for her to stand up to them. To be strong and admit what was going on in her life.

To stop hiding.

Here Three was, in a hospital room. Tubes in her arms, her normally brunette hair a shock of blonde framing a very pale face.

Three set her jaw and crossed her arms. “I’m fine. AND I’m keeping it. They won’t change my mind. I’m fine.”

I listened to her side of the story: crazy roommate. Insane roommate’s mother. The job she loved and had to leave. The one moment she was free of this Central Valley and Parental’s thumb. That sweet moment of freedom and independence.

I wanted to hug her. Tell her everything would be alright. That I was still in her corner, but I understood. Three didn’t want me involved. I needed to step away and let her sort it all out.

Saying my goodbyes, I left her and ran into my Dad in the hallway. Seething he told me about how he ordered a secret drug test on her; like I’d suggested years before. He was convinced her kidney infection was because of heavy drinking.

Because he had the same infection in college. From heaving drinking.

I patiently listened as he continued to fill me in on the “details.” He paused for me to add information.

With a smirk and shake of my head I said nothing. I knew the results would be negative.

He stormed away as I said goodbye. It was only the beginning.

[beccalynncreates]

When The Shiznit Hits

Counting Mutant’s face held a wry smile.

“Your Dad called a few times. I told him you were out of town and would call him back when you got home. He didn’t like that. It sounds like the Mother of Three’s roommate called your Dad and chewed him out for not being a supportive father to his pregnant daughter. Three is very sick.”

He then hugged me while toddler boys swarmed my legs.

“I am so glad this shit hit the fan while you were out of town. It really was a God thing.”

I felt numb and relieved at the same time. Taking my time, I unpacked my bags. Enjoyed MY family. Boys’ snuggles. Mutant told me about their adventures.

Time to face the storm, I picked up the phone and dialed the number.

I braced myself as the tone rang on the other end. My breath caught when he answered.

I simply said, “Hi Dad.”

That was all it took. His words poured through the receiver. Dad was so angry with me demanding to explain Why I didn’t tell him. How long had I known. Why I lied for so long. Why I didn’t keep my promise to tell him when major things were happening.

I gently reminded him, “Dad, remember when I said I would not get in the middle any more?”

“Yes.”

I took a deep breath for courage, “Well, that’s what I’ve done. It was Three’s responsibility to tell you about this. Not mine. She's an adult. I trusted her to tell you when she was ready. She knew this.”

Let’s just say, he did not like my answer. Angrily voicing disappointment in me, he gave the update: Three was very ill. She’d lost her job. After being confronted by the roommate's Mom, he drove to the beach town to picked her up. They went straight to the hospital. Three was there now with a kidney infection. Once released from the hospital, he would have to bring her home.

And deal with it.

[beccalynncreates]

The Cost of a Right Thing

Home with her puppy, SisterFour recovered. Mom was everything Four ever wanted a mom to be: caring, listening, nurturing, emotionally available and present. Four and I talked occasionally during my quiet moments, which were growing few now that Ase and Zany were 1 and 2. 

We talked about the ache in her arms that a dog couldn’t fill. We cried over the little moments she was missing. The ache of engorgement with no one to nurse.

A local faith based pregnancy center gave support to Four and my parents and helped to orchestrate the adoption. Four called me after her exit interview and explained through angry tears how she was lectured on the dangers of premarital sex. How now the baby was born, Four would statistically be more likely to get pregnant again to fill the void losing a baby creates.

The final thoughts were along the topic, “Now you've taken care of this, live you’re life. Don’t repeat your mistake.”

I asked her if they offered any kind of grief counseling. Any support for this transition.

“No.” was the reply.

Days later my Dad said to me on the phone, “You know… this whole thing is harder to deal with than I thought.”

“OF COURSE it is! You just lost a baby. It is a death of relationship. This deserves to be mourned. All the stages of grief apply.”

He casually agreed and life marched on.

Two adapting to married life. Four healing from giving her baby up for adoption. Parentals adjusting to the calm after their storm. Mutant’s tax season over. And Three starting a life in another town and no one knowing the secret she carried.

It seemed the worse was over. I was exhausted. I had taken no time to myself. Mutant decided I needed a weekend away. To sleep, recover and explore. He sent me to his Brother’s house. My Sister-in-law and I ate, lounged and she patiently listened to me unload about it all.

After two nights of uninterrupted sleep and three days of chasing my whims I came home. Refreshed I burst through the door and hugged by two happy boys. Mutant gave me a kiss and listened to me ramble. Once I ran out of words he said,

“You’re Dad called. He knows about Three.”

[beccalynncreates]

A Hard Flavor of Hope

In that quiet regularity I felt sane. That a healthy and happy extended family for my kids was possible. I dared to hope.

Those phone calls with Four were sweet. She was afraid of leaving the hospital with empty arms and asked the adoptive family if they could get her a puppy. Four knew it wasn’t a substitute, but it was something that could be hers. Something that might ease the empty pain she knew was looming.

Four understood that the physical handing over of her baby was impossible to imagine. She asked a friend of mine who was a pastor to help. I felt humbled when she asked me to be of the birth and film it. I had my bag ready by the door.

The moment came and off I went to help my sister do the hardest thing imaginable.

A room full of family and friends, the little bundle entered into reality. So much love and support for Four, but very little quiet. She would only have one night with her Little Bit. After Mutant and I left for the evening, I called the nurses’ station and asked them to clear the room. Four deserved to have a moment alone with her daughter.

With a heavy sigh next morning, I woke and dressed. At the hospital Four told me how she slept the night with Little Bit in her arms. How much it hurt. How she knew this would be her daughter’s best chance.

The adoptive family was wonderful and loving. It felt like we added another family to our odd shaped collective. Ase, usually very shy, roamed the halls hand in hand with their son. The connection for all of us was instant and easy as we sat together in a sweet moment of belonging.

The Pastor came and with tears he spoke of Hannah. How she gave her baby Solomon to the Priest Eli. Solomon was a baby of promise that God would take care of. We all prayed together. Quiet tears flowed.

Four kissed Little Bit’s head and handed her to Pastor. Pastor prayed over Little Bit then handed her to the Adoptive family.

Little Bit tucked into their car seat, we walked out of the hospital together. At the door we stood as the Adoptive Family brought Four the perfect black lab. That puppy knew what Four picked her up. With a nuzzle and a lick, we went in different directions.

All to face life on different terms.