Thursday, September 24, 2015

The Girl on the Bridge

It's not a story my husband would tell many people... but it's not one that's easily forgotten.

And in light of Suicide Awareness Month, he has given me permission to tell you what happened that day;

He wouldn't want to be called a hero or guardian angel...

but that's what he was...

When he saw the girl on the bridge.

He drives over the same bridge every day, never really giving a second thought to what lies below.

That Tuesday was the same...

but a few short seconds changed everything about that every-day-drive over that bridge from then on;

She was standing on the wrong side of the guard rail...

a car was parked not far from her and a woman was standing on the sidewalk dozens of steps behind her...

talking her down... begging her to turn around.

If you know my husband, you know he's not one to interfere. This time was different. 

It wasn't curiosity or nosiness... panic? fear?

It doesn't matter... he turned his car around.

He pulled into a nearby parking lot and walked across the bridge...

the lady continued talking to the girl but said nothing to Joey as he passed her by; her phone was in her hand, signaling to Joey that the police were on their way...

but how long had it been... and how long would it be?

He walked slowly up behind the girl... realizing just now that she was probably 16 years old...

maybe 16 years old?

As he approached the guard rail, he glanced over the side...

80 feet down to a concrete sidewalk. Maybe more.

She was going to die.

He guessed that she didn't know that he was behind her yet and as he walked closer, he silently and slowly reached over and placed his arm around her waist...

a risky move, maybe... but if you know my husband, you also know that this young girl was safe the second he touched her.

She was shaking uncontrollably. Paralyzed.

"I'm not going to let you jump. You're safe. But I am going to pick you up."

And he did.

Up and over the guard rail... and as her body got closer to his, she melted...

relief? 

I don't know. I hope so. I can only imagine.

He tried to set her down so she could sit on the sidewalk but the best he could do was lay her against the street-side... the safe side... of the guard rail. She collapsed on the ground, head down... sobbing.

The lady approached her and put her arm around the young girl...

"You're ok. You're going to be ok."

Joey stepped back.

A police officer approached and nodded his thanks before Joey walked back to his car.

As he pulled away, he could hear the ambulance sirens approaching in the distance...

She would be ok....

for now. For today.

Joey came home early from work that afternoon and as he relayed the story to me, I could see in him the fear he felt for that young girl. I could sense the panic... but I could only imagine the emotions and thoughts running through his mind...

about his own daughter. The 'why's'. The 'what if's'. 

But I know my husband.

I know how safe his strong arm around your waist makes you feel...

I know that the sound of his deep voice is calming, even under the most stressful of situations...

I know the control you feel when you can sense his presence standing next to you...

I know that when he says something... "You're safe"... you believe him.

What we don't know is what happened... what will happen... to that precious girl on the bridge.

I don't know what events took place in her life that morning... Who had she spoken to? Where had she been? Had no one tried to help her... Or had many? Where had her hurt come from? Where had her hopelessness come from?


What I do know is that depression puts you in places where you don't truly want to be... it changes parts of you that you once truly loved... it places blame where it doesn't belong...


and it robs you of what you've always known... what you've always believed.


And your control? There is none when depression takes the reigns. You... the 'you' you always knew, is gone.


In the aftermath of losing our Precious #3, I found myself in a dark place that I can only describe as the closest to Hell that I ever care to be. That I never cared to be.

I was surrounded by people who loved me... my arms were full of the sweet babies that Jesus had given to me... and from the outside, my life was rich and busy and full of every blessing that some people never receive...

but where I was, was dark... and lonely... and empty... and scary...

and as much as I wanted to be present and whole for the babies I did have...

I desperately wanted the one I had lost.

And this is a hard reality for a Mama who became a Mama the way I did...

and it's an even harder reality to admit out loud... or in writing.

But also... aside from missing my baby...

I had let my husband down... My body had. Over and over and over again...

we had let him down.

So guilt set in...

I missed the baby I lost when both of the precious ones I still had were standing right in front of me...

and how could my husband still love me... want me... when my body had failed him time and time again?

And guilt led to shame...

and shame led to feeling worthless...

and worthlessness led to joylessness...

and joylessness led to hopelessness...

and that's where I was stuck.

Where I was sinking.

Those closest to me worried about me... they did their very very best to be sure that I knew every second of every day that I was loved, that our Precious #3 wouldn't be forgotten, and that Jesus loved me.

Because if Jesus loves you, everything will be ok.

My husband did everything he could to reassure me; he wasn't disappointed... he was sad... he was worried about me... he loved me.

As the weeks and months went on, I felt that my depression became a nuisance to those who cared about me...

In my mind, their faces told me to get over it.

In my heart, I knew they wanted to help... but how?

But their faces... that's all I could see. Their hearts were as lost to me as my own.

And one day, in a desperate attempt at helping me climb out of the dark place I was in, someone so precious to me... one of the most solid, encouraging, Godly women I know...

told me to "choose joy".

And within those 2 words, the dark hole I was in became a bottomless pit that I knew I would never be able to climb out of on my own.

I didn't see it coming.

Those simple words screamed at me...

"You can fix this if you'd just CHOOSE to be happy!"

"You're the only one who can fix this... so fix it."

And I couldn't.

I was saved... I knew Jesus and how much He loved me... how much He sacrificed for me... how faithful He had been...

I knew that if this... this Hell on Earth didn't work... if I never climbed out... if I couldn't find a way to live in it...

I would be in Heaven with my #3. 

I knew that.... and that's all I knew.

The only place to go from there....

is unspeakable.

I couldn't choose joy... because I didn't have any to choose from. I was sad... and lost... and broken... and depressed...

and society doesn't allow Christians to be depressed.

"Consider it pure joy when you face trials of any kind..." James 1:3-4

"Rejoice in the Lord, always!" Philippians 4:4

"This is the day that the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it!" Psalm 118:24

His Word screams it... demands it! CHOOSE JOY!

But friends, we make a huge mistake when we throw these verses at someone who has found themselves in the pit of depression.

We mean well... and we love them... and often times we just don't know what else to say, so we assume that peace and healing can be found in these sacred words.

In God's Word, joy is a common theme... as it should be! Those who know Him are gifted HIS joy...

but those who know Him also know how to use His joy as a platform ...

because what else can you do?!

"Jesus can fix it," we say.

Do you know someone in the throws of depression?! Do you know someone who is standing on that bridge?! Who is facing a bridge of their own?!

They can't choose joy.

They are sick.

No.

Actually... they WISH they were sick. Because being sick means you have a diagnosis and having a diagnosis means there is hope... hope for a cure or for help or at the very least, for understanding.

How do we help the girl on the bridge? How do we talk her down?

The young woman, recently graduated, with so much in front of her... who just moved for her first job and doesn't know a soul.

The newly married woman who desperately wants to have a baby... but her husband isn't ready.

The couple who has been trying for months and can't get pregnant... but everyone around them is.

The woman who got pregnant so easily and imagined incredible plans for her future with their first child... and lost her baby.

The adoptive Mama who knows every single day how blessed she is that Jesus let her be a Mama... but stifles the deep desire within her to still experience pregnancy.

The friend who's husband just walked out... making her a single mom.

The ones who dreamt of retirement and years of enjoying each other... but her husband went first and way too early.

They're there... they're here. They're you ... and they're me.

This month... right now... I want you to know something...

you cannot save her with Jesus.

Yes, Jesus saves... yes, Jesus loves her... yes, Jesus has plans for her and hope for her future...

Jesus does.

Not you.

Depression has a way of sucking every ounce of joy from a life that is otherwise joyful...

it can steal your joy. Your happiness.

And it will.

But...

it cannot steal your hope.

Joy; a feeling of great happiness

Hope; a feeling of expectation and desire
(dictionary.com)


You can breathe HOPE into them.

Because we can choose HOPE.... we can touch it and feel it...

and as long as there is a future...

there is hope.

"For I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord. Plans to prosper you and not to harm you. Plans to give you hope and a future."
Jeremiah 29:11

"Know that wisdom is such to your soul; if you find it, there will be a future, and your hope will not be cut off."
Proverbs 24:14

"You will be secure because there is hope; you will look about you and take your rest in safety. You will lie down, with no one to make you afraid."
Job 11; 18-19

"The Lord delights in those who fear him, who put their hope in his love."
Psalm 147:11

That last one;

our hope... gives Him joy.

Choosing hope forces us to look forward to what CAN BE.

While JOY makes us feel guilty for what is not.

"Rejoice in hope, be patient in tribulation, be constant in prayer."
Romans 12:12

That last one...

Rejoice in the fact that you have hope...

Be patient when things are hard...

And pray.... talk to Jesus.

When you're on the bridge and you're face to face with Hell... with the joy that you know you're called to have, but that you can't find even if it would save your life...

friend, you can't choose joy.

But you can choose hope.

I lost my #3. In this life, I will never know him or her. 

And there is no joy in that. There will never be ANY joy in that. 

And I thought I would spend forever feeling guilty for the simple fact that I could not choose joy... like I was supposed to.

The charge to me to 'choose joy' pushed me to take a step that I was certain only proved that I was weak...

I made an appointment with a therapist.

She listened to me... she questioned me... she made me cry and forced me to be honest... 

and then she asked me...

".. and what do you hope for?"

And in those simple words, I realized that Jesus' plan for me is good.

It might hurt...and it might make me sad... and it might be everything I wished it wasn't...

but beauty comes from ashes...





and from the ashes of some of the most terrible things we go through that are within His plan for us...

comes hope.

Are you hurting? Are you the girl on the bridge... or the one who lost her baby... or her husband... or just her joy?

There is hope. 


The girl on the bridge... Is she your friend? 

Show her what she CAN do... because there is so so much that she can't.

She can dream... and she can talk to you... she can feel your strong arms around her and know that she is loved and she is safe...

and she can hope.

And it's not beyond me that this ending... this hope-filled ending... isn't always the outcome for those who are hurting;

The girl on the bridge... I don't know where she is... or is she has found hope...

Because I do know that beauty can come from ashes...

and hope comes from hurt.

Let's be hope-givers.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

National Suicide Hotline; (800) 273-8255

Wednesday, September 16, 2015

He would be dead.




He was 3 weeks old when we met him... just a little over 3 pounds.


"Do you want to hold him?" She asked Joey...

"You'll be the first to hold him besides us..." 

and as she handed him to Joey....

"He has such wise eyes... he looks right into your heart."



"He's been through so much... he's such a fighter...." 



And she stood to the side as we got to know our new son.


In those 6 weeks, countless women and men loved on our tiny, precious boy...

 they loved on us, too.

After spending a week 6 hours away from home, getting to know our son, Joey had to go back to work... 

and most weekdays, I was alone;

My day would start and end at the Ronald McDonald House and every hour in between was spent with him... with them...

his first caregivers... some of the very first ones to love him... the first ones to pray over him... 

the first ones to pray for us...

the first ones to acknowledge us as his Mommy and Daddy.




They were the first to hold him... change him... talk to him...

the first to teach us how to care for him...

for this precious, tiny miracle...

they never left our side.

They helped us keep our heads above water... juggling the time we knew we had with our sweet girl...

and the time we had with him... 

not knowing how much of that time we had left.



As the weeks went by, we became family... I trusted them... and they trusted me.

I knew their stories...

and they were now part of mine.

The long shifts with short breaks... 

I was there for hundreds of them.

Take a walk... eat... get some fresh air... call their mom or their husband or their friend... read... listen to music that might break up the deafening sound of beeping monitors and crying babies...

they could have... should have... done anything with those short breaks....

but most days, they would sit with me.

I had held him for hours... skin to skin... begging Jesus to save him, to give him strength, to equip us to be his Mama and Daddy... watching monitors religiously as they put numbers on his life... terrified that today might be my last day with him, while it was really only one of my first...

and they would sit with me... making the horrifying sounds disappear within the soft words of our conversation.

They gave me purpose...

 and peace.

They gave me permission to love him... they placed him in my arms... 

they made me his Mama.



The doctors blew me off because I wasn't his 'real' mom... and she fought for me.

He needed to gain 3 ounces in order to start bottle feeds... and she knew he was ready so she added .5 ounces to his midnight weigh-in.

He needed to eat 30 cc's in order to keep the ng-tube out and be able to go home... she let me sleep and didn't stop feeding him until he had eaten it all.

He coded... and she saved him.



But they weren't just there for him....

I was cold... so she brought me a warm blanket.

I didn't want to spend another night alone... so she arranged to let me room in with him.

I couldn't do it on my own anymore... she let me cry and told me I wasn't doing it alone; that she was there with me.

I needed Joey to get there in time for rounds, but he was 30 minutes away and rounds had already started... so she changed the attending's schedule.

She trusted my Mommy instinct... she trusted that I knew him best... she trusted that my heart knew him... even though he didn't come from my body. 

The doctors told us he was going to die.... and none of them let him.


Lindsay.... Jackie.... Betsy.... Ellie.... Melissa.... Jennifer.... Rob.... and so many more.

They saved him.

I don't watch The View OR the Miss America Pageant...

I hate them both...

but since they're all clogging my news feed... and since so many of our friends and family have dedicated their lives to a profession as difficult as nursing...

this is the perfect opportunity for us to say "thank you" to every one of them...

but especially to the ones who saved our son.

And when this is your son... your precious miracle... your fighter...


the reality of who he is, of where he's been, of what could have been, and of where he is going...

 is never very far from your mind.

And without them...

without his nurses...

he would be dead.