Re•building joy - Thoughts that came to me on Easter.

It's been a ling time since I posted about re•building joy. Maybe as my grief becomes more and more manageable - it also becomes more normal and less noteworthy. I guess they call that "the new normal." I look at my grief now more as a scar than an open wound.

For so long, I walked around feeling like I was "the lady who had that horrible experience where her adoptive child had to be moved because the bio-mom threatened to kill her[my] kids" - it was so hard to enter any new relationship without mentioning what we had gone through. And in all honesty, I rather value the friends I have who already know the story as opposed to new people who may not know the depths of the despair we faced this past 2 years.
The ache I have for my baby who is gone is still here when I open the emotional door and look in that room, it still makes me cry and feel like I could vomit from the pain. He is two and a half now. We hear he is doing really well. Does my heart pound even as I type that? Yes. I've seen him a couple times since everything went down. It was clear he knew who we are - that we had him from 3weeks-17months. He followed J around crying -clinging to him and begging to be held the first time we saw him - just a few weeks after everything happened. I see pics of people's babies online and I remember that I was never allowed to post photos of him online, so in my online world, no one could see what our family looked like. But every time I have to dig through iPhoto for an old pic I have to scroll through multiple hundreds of pictures that have him in it. I've come to avoid iPhoto because it hurts so much to look back.
And yet, it does feel like a new season. I laugh more than I used to. I need more quiet and more control over my environment than before; I spend a lot of time alone and in silence. But that's okay. That's a part of me now, too. I feel like a tree that lost a limb in a storm. A huge limb. It threatened my stability to lose what I lost, but I've learned to stand. I've dug deeper roots. I have a scar and am not what I was before. I cannot offer the shade and protection to others that I offered before, but I still have some shade and a little bit of protection to spare.
I also have a story to tell. A sad story, to be sure. A scary story. A reason to be discouraged - if you want to look at it that way... But I also have another part of that same story to tell...
I can tell you about a family that survived death threats and losing one of our members. I can tell you about a marriage that is committed to looking each other eyeball to eyeball and never giving up on each other. I can tell you that LOVE is deeper and wider and stronger and more powerful than hate or fear. I can tell you that I still believe in a God who loves me, even if He let me get broken by pain.
People ask me all the time about the tattoo that circles my wrist. It says, "nothing can separate us". Some people think that's a sweet and romantic thing to have tattooed. Others know that there is a spiritual side to the words. When I don't feel like explaining the long version to people, I say "I just wanted a reminder that things can happen, but nothing can just come in and separate us from love." Then other people may recognize that there is a Bible Verse that says, "nothing can separate us from the love of God" - how beautiful is this passage?

For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor any other created thing, will be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord. (Romans 8:38, 39 NASB)

There's another part of my story, that includes the story of our first foster baby that we had in our home as we tried to adopt. We were sitting in church on a Sunday, so happy, so over the moon in love with the idea of our family as it was shaping up. Jay was holding "AJ" (the boys' names are all nicknames as I can't post their real names) as I drew in my sketchbook during church. A woman began to speak out the powerful verses in Romans 8 and I knew that I needed those words tattooed on my wrist. I wanted to always have to remember that no matter what the future held, nothing could keep AJ from God's love. Nothing could tear our family's love from each other. And nothing could ever take me away from the love of God. The next day, AJ was suddenly taken from our adoptive home and placed into his 6th temporary foster home in his 3month life - so that we would not be able to adopt him. I was crushed. Then there was "Ace" a few months later. This time the social worker was set on us adopting him, but every interaction I'd had with Ace's mom told me she deserved another chance - i didn't think she would hurt her baby ... It was so hard. He was a colicky baby and I didn't sleep more than 45 minute stretches for 2 months. When he moved to another home closer to his mom, I pretty much had a nervous breakdown.
We took a few months off of foster care and finally tried again and got our precious baby G. If you've read my blog for a while I think you know most of the story. We were told he was a "fast-track" to adoption- didn't imagine the 18 months of threats and harassment... The social workers bringing him down the back stairs fearing for our safety. I carried pepper spray with me constantly and became paranoid - covering the baby's stroller with his sunscreen everywhere I went because I was so afraid of being attacked.
I also was a regular mom through this. Picking up my kids at preschool and first grade, making dinner, juggling life with three kids, making art, blogging... Trying to keep my kids feeling like life wasn't bordering on insanity.

Then G was gone. We were the ones who had to make the call to have him moved to a home that was top secret to protect him and our children. Someone had slipped up and gave the bio mom our home address and she used it in her threats. So we got to deal with the feelings of failure as foster parents too, as we had to drop off our 3rd child at the home of some kind strangers, hoping and praying all three kids and ourselves might be safe if we made this horrible call.

And that is when I realized that I had nothing left of myself. I was an open wound. A mother with empty arms. I had my own two kids, but my baby was gone. The week he had started calling me "Mom" was also the week he left. I still have dreams that he comes back to me. So do the kids and Jay.

I began my journey to re•building joy. I began this past year unable to look forward even a few weeks. I'd cry if I even walked down the diaper aisle in the store. We trudged forward, stumbling. There weren't words to contain our pain. Our kids had even less words and it was a year of many many tears.
But we have inched forward. I've thrown every ounce of my anger, frustration and loss into places that I felt could contain them. My journal, my therapy sessions, my artwork, prayer. Slowly my burden has become lighter and I have walked on - it feels like so long since this journey started. And yet I still do feel fragile.

Jay and I watched a bit of "The Bible" on the History channel this week. We were struck by how violent history in general has been. How many people have watched violent deaths of loved ones - for whatever cause? How many people have been beaten or oppressed by dictators, enemies, abusers and bullies? How many people have images and fearful situations in their memories that made their hands shake for years?

I have had the luxury of time to heal.
I have been blessed to have a roof over my head and caring friends around me as I faced dark memories and doubts.

My story is not one of pity. My story is a testimony. A witness that I am not ruined, though I felt broken. I will always remember the fears and shame and disappointments, but they do not define me and I do not define myself by the dreams I had which did not come true. I desperately wanted to adopt. I was so happy in the short season where we had 4 kids in 2011 - our two, plus G and a 4 year old girl staying with us. I felt so full of purpose - exhausted in the best way.
But that season is over. And I cannot have what I wanted. There will never be a replacement for G.
But will I wear heaviness and sadness forever? If I do, I'm choosing the road of bitterness. No. I will not. I will put off my heavy coat of sadness and put on joy.
Why? (These are all questions I've asked myself a thousand times)

Because I have my faith that tells me that this life is not what it's all about. Not the house I live in, the art I make, whether or not my kids make me proud. This is all about something else. This is all about nothing being able to separate me from the love of God. Not anything. And if I truly believe that God loves me, then I am not going to live like my losses and failures define me. None of them. Because if God loves me, then I better live in the knowledge of that joy. Otherwise, then why bother saying He loves me at all?

And what about all the other people in this big world? What about their pain? (So much worse than my own) Is there a time for them to walk on? To receive love and put off their sadness and walk into joy? I believe so. I do. We have to walk through the darkness first, for sure. It's not pretty. But I believe if I can see and accept that even still - God might still love me - in spite of the fact that I have scars and I limp... Then that's enough reason to let my sadness have its rest.

Today I felt it. I felt the clock ticking - a little timer going off in my heart that said, "Liberty, it's time to pick up joy again. Empty out your pockets a little more, make some room for joy by letting go of some of the sadness."
And I'm not sure exactly how to do that except by trying to remain open to possibilities and hope. But I'm going to try.

Re•building Joy - a year into healing

I haven't written much about Re•building Joy lately. Partly because when you're working through grief you also have to walk through some really lonely and angry parts which are just not very beautiful or inspiring to write about but it's the honest truth about where I've been.

(Warning: this post is very personal and if you just like my blog for art and quilts, this may not interest you, feel free to skip ahead to another post. I'm not offended. However, as this blog has always been about what inspires me and my "re•building joy" journey is a large part of what propels me these days... I decided to post these rather personal musings after some careful thought - it's taken over a week to write this) I've also had more than two friends ask me lately if they'd offended me or if I had noticed that they'd sent me multiple messages I hadn't responded to. There are probably more people wondering the same thing. Ive dropped the ball on so much lately. had to let go of so many things i was good at before. So I'm writing this... Putting this out there as a year post-mortem entry. I want you all to know that I'm not personally offended at anyone. If I haven't responded this year to you, read on and hear a little about my journey and what I have been doing. This year has been the hardest of my life. The previous year was the previous hardest year... But I was running on adrenaline and a sense that I was doing the right thing... And those can give you a lot of strength. I used to have tremendous stamina, and a passion for doing good to the world. This year? This year has been filled with aftermath. And grief... Both of which highlight weakness and make you battle all your personal demons rather than ignoring them. Post-traumatic stress, perhaps? Our path in pain has confused people around us, too. It's easy when you feel sliced open to get hurt further by well intentioned people who say the wrong things.
All that said:
This weekend marks a year that we said goodbye to G.
I have a lot of questions that I ask God these days. In the past, I've felt times where I was super close to God, like I could feel His presence in the same room as me. And then there were times where He was further than the moon. But never before have I had to ask the angry questions I've had for him this year. The biggest one being, "if there's a shortage of people willing to take in foster kids and the system is desperate for good families, why would you allow us to get so abused and terrorized to the point where there was no hope of us being able to do it again?" We feel like Olympic marathoners who've suddenly lost a leg.

I wish so much that I could show you photos of him when he was in our home so you could see how much a part of life he was and how this really was like losing our own child. I cry almost every time i have to go back through iPhoto to find some old pic. Almost all of our pics from our time together had him in them. We had him from 3weeks-16months old, always with the intention of adoption. If you've been to my house, though, you've seen the pictures, you've probably heard my kids talk about him or maybe you've seen that they often write about him at school in their projects. We still mention him daily and miss him desperately. We also dealt with losing our sense of security. Having an unstable person post your address, photos of your family and death threats on the internet is not something you recover from quickly. We still have nightmares. We still look over our shoulders. G is safe and we have been too, and that helps, but we were pretty rattled. (And that was only the straw that broke the camel's back - there's so much I'm not allowed to post)

I've spent this past year working through all of these different issues. We've had a lot of ups and a lot of downs. We moved, switched schools, dealt with a lot of fallout with two kids who lost a baby brother, and we've simply kept walking. Jay has spent most of the year working three full time jobs... Which doesn't leave many easy family evenings at home.
And in the process I also lost my dear friend Yolanda.

It's been almost impossible for me to sit down and write about "re•building joy" when so much of the rebuilding has been having to clear out what was destroyed. I look at images of Hurricane Sandy and I relate. I see devastation and hopes dashed. And I realize that before they can rebuild, they have to clear out a lot of debris.

I've spent my year filling up emotional dumpsters. Invisibly burning things that weren't critical. Saving the shreds of things that were. Hanging onto the hope that there will always be this loss, but that life carries on and someday it won't hurt as bad as it does now. It already doesn't hurt like it did a year ago, where I barely could scrape myself together to leave the house and I felt like I couldn't breathe, but I still struggle in groups. My hands don't shake constantly anymore, but I still have a hard time answering the question "how many kids do you have?" without launching into a long sad story. (Answer: 2, I have two)

I was asked today what I am grateful for. And I mean this in all sincerity, without guile or self-pity: I am grateful for my family. For kids who have learned that you can still have fun even when your heart hurts. They have expressed their angers and fears in many ways this year and they are now evening out and beginning to flourish in generosity and loveliness. Its taken almost all i have to pour myself into their healing as I myself am healing. I'm grateful for a husband who I am closer to now than I ever was before. He is a rock. We survived this in tact and just celebrated 12 years married. Most of all, I am grateful that after the hardest, worst 2 years of my life... That I haven't shut the door on God. I have my foot in the door and it's hard not to want to slam it, but its not closed. Yes, my journal has more four letter words in it than I would guess most "prayer journals" include. (I figure if He can dish it out, he can deal with my questions.) And whether God is closer than my skin or further than the moon right now, I don't know. Things are different than they used to be. My relationship with God is more complex. If I didn't believe God was actually a living entity- I'd have given up and walked away by now. Who wants to merely pretend to believe in something that hurts so bad? But if I know God is real, a real live spirit... Then whether or not I like Him right now doesn't change whether or not He made me. And that is where my wrestling lies now.. That is where I sit in my journey.

I'm weaker than I used to be. My nerves are more easily shaken. I host parties now and it takes me days to recover. I don't allow myself to cry in front of people often, but I still cry a lot at home or in my car . But I'm also more aware of the strength I have. I know how much I have to give and I give what I can. I realize my capacity for relationships isn't what it was before. I am not as good at multi-tasking. I'm even more poorly organized than I used to be. I know my kids better and I love them more. And Jay... Well, suffice it to say that there are a lot of divorced foster parents out there. And I've heard something like 75% of couples who lose a child also lose their marriage... We came through this stronger and closer and more in tune than ever before. I couldn't ask for more with him.

It hasn't been a year flooded with joy. Maybe that will be 2013. But it feels like kind of a big deal just to look back and know we made it to this point without losing any more.
And before the re•building starts after a hurricane... There's a lot of cleanup and hauling out of painful fragments. I'm starting to see glimpses of the foundation... And so far, it looks like it survived in tact.

A number of times this year, I've stumbled on old pics of myself. I look happier, lighter than I do now. Like any American president a few years into office - I've aged visibly. A friend recently told me, " you ARE different. You're not as light-hearted as you were. But that wouldn't be authentic to your journey if you were. You have good reason."

I hope someday I can feel like a kite flying high again, soaring. Maybe I won't. Or maybe I'll soar again, but the shadows in my heart will remind me to be more grateful for the soaring. I hope so for the latter, that would be nice.

For now... I'll continue to take it one day at a time. This weekend, I'm going away to sew for 4 days with my quilt buddies. These ladies helped me to laugh this year when I didn't even think it was possible. We walked through Yolanda's illness together and we will also leave our retreat to attend a service for Yolanda together as well.

Thanksgiving is coming up too. My favorite holiday... We are putting our little "I'm thankful for" cards daily in our November countdown calendar and there is no shortage of things to write.

I'm thankful for you, too. I honestly don't know the percentage of you who read my blog are flesh and blood friends vs. online friends... But you are both. And I know my blog isn't like other blogs... It's kind of all over the place (like me, really)... But it is filled with warmth and happiness and for that I'm grateful.

I try so hard to make this blog a place for beauty and inspiration. Tonight, it's more raw. Maybe you can read this and have a little more insight into the intense artwork I've been churning out lately. (Why does our best work often come in the most pain?) I literally have STACKS of those finished collages in my living room. Piles of self-expression where I am excavating all these emotions and trying to create beauty from madness, pain and confusion. Pretty soon, Libby Dibby skirts will say their final goodbye and my website will change to a whole new version... (You can see it now at www.libertyworth.weebly.com). Life marches on. Last year, our family Christmas card was the parody of Abbey Road. The reference to forward motion was intentional. We did that shoot a week after we went from a family of 5 down to 4. I wanted to say to the world that we were committed to walking on together. We still are.

Thank you for supporting us on our journey. Thank you for supporting me.


Sent from my iPhone

Re•building joy - sketchbook view

A glimpse into my sketchbook today.

Re•building joy - I caught myself singing

I had a long drive yesterday at dusk. The skies in LA have been unbelievably beautiful this week as a very unusual storm passed through. I was able to watch the sunset in my rear view mirror and see it reflect off downtown and the urban hills and trees of LA as I drove east to the foothills. Beautiful. If I weren't going 68mph, I would have been taking pictures - so many.
But the images are sealed in my mind. I was alone, there wasn't traffic, for some reason... I put on my favorite playlist really loud and enjoyed the moment. There was a moment though where suddenly I realized, "I'm singing loud in my car!"
I think I have caught myself singing only two of three times in the past six months. Not much.
But the sun seems to be rising. The flowers are appearing on the earth.
Ironically, I also have found that I cry more easily when I think of missing Gray (I so wish I could show you pics of him!) - but I am smiling more too. Things are getting unclogged.

I'm really ready for spring. It's been a long winter. I remember from my 5 winters in Chicago that the first crocuses that poked through the snow were the sign that we had made it. I have seen crocuses. And I have caught myself singing.

Re•building joy - encouraging myself

We can all agree. It's been a rough few months around here. I haven't shared half of it. Sometimes it's felt like we almost catch our breath with one thing only to be hit by another, stronger wave. I saw this verse and typography on pinterest and felt like I needed it written on my face. So I did just that. (graphically speaking)
I needed to be able to read this, and know that it could be me, too.

Re•building joy - time for paper

Tonight I almost didn't go to art class. If I'm honest, the only reason I went was because I care about my classmates and it's our first class in the absence of our beloved teacher. The last time I was there in class (with Franklyn, a few days before he died), I came home and nearly cried. I hated the art I was making that night. He kept telling me there was something in it. I left it in my car for two weeks, put groceries on it, everything. I still don't see it. I was in a major funk today and thought of bringing some easy happy paper collages to work on instead of the embroidered and stitched collages I've been struggling with. My classmate/new substitute teacher, Mary (she was taking the class as a student but also teaches at Art Center and has agreed to lead us through semester) - brought me some beautiful red Chinese paper as a gift tonight.
We had been clipping creative writing quotes as inspiration pieces for our work, and I found a piece of an old piano song sheet in my collage collection file - I had to use it. It reminded me of re•building joy (of course)... The lyrics read "and I am led through tears and joy to"
I played with Mary's Chinese red paper into this tiny panel board along with clippings from Sarah's magazine, a transfer from a pic of me cuddling with Gray- and another little Chinese goodie from Mary - a ticket of sorts that she told me represents the gift of friendship.

I brought this home tonight (among other works in progress) and immediately began hunting for the right place in my house for it. Not sure yet, but this one is a keeper. It was healing to make it and it is healing to see it.

It wasn't a great day today, but something beautiful did come from it. (even if it came at 9:30pm)

Re•building joy - march 8

Some weeks are easier than others. This week: not so easy.
Tonight involved returning to art class where a bunch of people gathered to share about Franklyn. I'm glad I went, though, a number of times during the day I wondered if I had the emotional strength to face more grief head-on right now. About an hour before I left for class, my phone began to ring. The caller ID told me it was DCFS. My heart froze and I decided to ignore the call. I used to drop everything for their calls, but now I'm not a foster parent... I let it ring. Then my landline began ringing. (almost no one has that number). It was DCFS. I picked up.
The voice at the other end said they were reviewing our entire case and that our adoption attempts were being closed, home study being finished now that we don't have Baby. The lady was kinder than I expected. She actually said how so so sorry she was at what we had been through. She knew all the details, had them there in front of her and felt horrible for our experience. I don't think I ever expected a "sorry" call from DCFS. I told her "we adored him every minute we had him and we miss him so much." The call shook me.

I also saw a grown woman being a bully this week and I got so angry that I couldn't calm down for hours.
I'm learning that anger is a part of grief. These days I feel angry when I see someone manipulating or bullying someone else. I can relate to being bullied by words and fear and it makes me furious. I'm not near as angry for my own self as I was before, but I find that injustice, unfairness or lack of control gets me really agitated. Sadly, I have an almost 6 year old who also feels deeply and is not unlike Momma in his grieving and anger. Here is someone who is no longer a big brother and has no way to express how angry that makes him feel except to lash out in aggression whenever he is with me.

I'm exhausted.
I've got three (really, three!) quilts in the upcoming Glendale Quilt Show. All of which are intensely related to this journey of mine. They are heavy emotionally when I look at them. I even forgot to bring my finished Timeline quilt to the Los Angeles Modern Quilt guild meeting on Monday. I couldn't believe I forgot. My friend whispered, "maybe you sub-consciously just want to be done with it and you don't want to talk about it" - that could be true.
In the past, my artwork has always been intense, but far more harmonious than heavy. This stuff lately, both in my collage class and my quilts is so angry. When no one is around, my car hears me shout and throw my own tantrums.
I'm trying to get it all out, but not sure how to direct it. Then I have a 6yo version of my grief telling me he wants a new mommy because I said he had to wear shoes... (or any number of factors)
Some weeks are easier than others. Some just have to be survived.
Re•building joy doesn't feel like where I am at right now. But I get that if I'm strong enough to look around with my eyes open, then I am stronger than I was 4 months ago. Back then, I had lots more balls in the air - I even think i felt like a better mom than I do now, but on the inside I was crumbling. I know more now. I'm still shaken. I still want my baby. I'm still afraid I will never be the same. I still look over my shoulder and am hyper vigilant around my kids. But I also know I'm not hiding anything, there's no stuffing it down. And as each tablespoon of yuck surfaces to the top, I skim it, examine it and try to get it out to make room for more joy.
There may be a few more angry quilts in me before this is done. Bear with me... Its a long journey. But we will make it out... I'm sure.

Re•building joy and choosing hope

Sometimes Re•building joy can focus on the "building" parts. How quickly have these first two months of 2012 flown by? At first it was easy to schedule time in for quiet hikes and sunlit moments in a park. But then it was time to tour charter schools, since I've become passionate about their different style of learning. And then my kids got into a great one (but only if we jumped immediately) and we had to change schools suddenly last week. Wow, chaos is constantly encroaching, isn't it?
I'm still here though, still always chewing on this idea of "re•building joy". Not just "choosing joy", because I have to acknowledge that mine was there and then was depleted, stolen, crushed, lost - whatever you want to call it. And in my case, choosing just to be happy might ignore some pretty important points. So now I am focusing heavily on choosing HOPE as I re•build my "container" of JOY.
Last night I looked back at the beginning of my current journal. I started it about 2 weeks before G came to our home. And I KNEW KNEW KNEW that a baby was coming soon. I was telling people... I kept writing that I was going to "CHOOSE HOPE" (yes, in my journal it was all in caps, too)
Somehow that thought has been here this past two years... That I have to choose hope. I've been thinking... There are two options I have: 1- to not hope anymore. That leaves me hopeless, and if I even bother to pray or wish for things, then I am coming from a place where my only "hope" is that I can perhaps manipulate things to go my way by sheer force or willpower. Quite frankly, that sounds horrible and exhausting.
Option #2 - hope. It's foolish, right? To have been beaten down and kicked to the breaking point and to decide that I believe the future is better.
It's Black History month and I love to address that in my personal life. I've spent this month looking at the art of Romare Bearden and I have a half-read (much highlighted) copy of some of the most powerful speeches and writings of Martin Luther King Jr. in my pile of books... I marvel at the hope MLK had. Why would he believe things would/could change? Wasn't that foolish? How foolish was Nelson Mandela to sit in a prison for decades and to not only decide not to hate, but to hope? Foolish, right? Or beautiful and brave? How foolish was Rosa Parks to decide one day her bus ride might change things for an entire nation? Or is it NOT foolish to hope? Maybe it's brave and wise?
I think hope is scary.
I also think choosing NOT to hope is even scarier, no matter how foolish the choice may appear.

What that looks like, I don't know. But trust me, I am leaping at even the smallest opportunities I have for choosing hope. I think they will show me the way. These are the days where re•building takes work... But I'm not really the type to give up easily.

A glass half full - pretty pics

It all depends on how you look at it, right? (took these at the awards show the other night)

Southern California Fast Food Healing

As you know, I live in Los Angeles. And yes, my husband does work in entertainment and yes we do regularly see friends on tv and names we know in the credits. We sit through the end of the credits at the theater to cheer for the names we know. We can see the Hollywood sign from our street and we have drive by shootings too. We go to the beach in January and complain when its below 60 degrees. All of it.
We also are a regular hard working family, surrounded by regular hard working families.
But sometimes there's another part of LA that puts the pressure on. The image of things always having happy endings and wrapping up quickly. Today, I was waiting in the driveway at in'n'out burger thinking about fast food and how I wish grief and healing were fast. They're not.
When we lost our first adoptive placement back to the foster system... Baby AJ - I was devastated. But hopeful too - that someday wrong would be made right. I gave myself 6-8 weeks to grieve and then never looked back. (meaning I actually shut the door on a lot of pain and disappointment without ever dealing with it). Then came baby Ace. I realized with him that there was a LOT of pain I hadn't dealt with, because it was hard to love him from such a wounded soul.
After he was gone too, I felt so much of a failure. Not that I had done anything wrong per se, but that I wasn't strong enough to handle and absorb the wrongs done to me. I wanted to be their champion and instead I was just a wounded foster mom - unable to make a true difference in their lives - or at least the difference I had wanted to make. I felt helpless and really could do nothing on their behalf. Such a horrible feeling to have to let go of a baby and then let them loose into a broken and prejudiced system that wasn't necessarily giving them anything good. I couldn't even fight for their rights.

When we tried this last time, we got WAY more than we bargained for. I never imagined that I would be facing someone threatening to hurt my own kids. I never thought I would really be someone who had a restraining order against a dangerous and unpredictable person. (Can we just take a moment and think about the fear you are dealing with when you get to the place where you are actually granted a restraining order?) Its almost too much.

Deep breath....
So on sunny days like today, after a fun black-tie event the night before, it's easy to wish for a fast food healing. To hope that the world will be bright and sunny tomorrow and nothing will hurt. Well, if there's one thing I am learning, it's that healing (like growing) takes time. And you can't rush it. There can be steadily brighter days. The amount of laughter may increase exponentially. But there are always smells, sounds, memories, and dreams that encroach in on an otherwise regular day. "I can't take the carpool lane because I don't have a baby with me" ...."he loved this song"... "yes, you can leave your Legos out because the baby isn't here to eat them"
All sorts of things, to remind. To remind you that he's gone - and not ever coming back.

Sometimes, even warm, sunny days in February can't bake grief out fast enough. Sometimes I feel like the mountain in front of me to healing is so high. In moving forward, I'm also having to look back. I can't see how I can heal without truly understanding where I've been. I see now that to have made it this far, I must have been brave and I must have had strength. I'm quite depleted now though. I'm jumpy. I always look over my shoulders and I'm crazy wary with my kids.

Over these past few months, we've had a specific soundtrack we play all the time. It's a mix I made right before G left. This morning I drove to have a mommy (fabric) playdate with a dear friend. In the car on the way, I listened to one song and kept skipping back to hear it again. I'll paste the lyrics below. I know I don't share my spiritual side super much here on this blog, but on days like today, when I wish I could heal faster, and I don't feel strong, it seems fair to share what I'm feeding myself to keep walking. I hope you find it as encouraging as I do.

Please Be My Strength - (By Gungor)
I've tried to stand my ground
I've tried to understand
but I can't seem to find my way

like water on the sand
or grasping at the wind
I keep on falling short

please be my strength
please be my strenth
I don't have anymore
I don't have anymore

I'm looking for a place
that I can plant my faith
one thing I know for sure

I cannot create it
I cannot sustain it
It's Your love that's keeping me

Please be my strength...

at my final breath
I hope that I can say
I've fought the good fight of faith

I pray your glory shines
through this doubting heart of mine
so my world would know that You

You are my strength
You and You alone
You and You alone
Keep bringin me back home

Re•joy - indulgence. (just be)

I was taught not to be super self indulgent. I was taught that I need to see the pain in the world and do something about it. I was taught that it's okay to enjoy good things, but to hold them lightly. I was taught that I should give freely because I have received freely. I was taught to be the change I wanted to see. These are GOOD things to internalize.
But sometimes we need to rest. And as a child, I saw rest modeled, too, but I'm naturally a work-horse. I don't stop just because something hurts. I almost never rest. Which means that it's hard to take time to heal. It's actually becoming a bit of a discipline for me - to check in with myself and say, "libby, you need to just BE". Not be productive, proactive or prolific. Just be.
This weekend was so good for that for me... I laughed till I cried, I made things, but I also got to have silence and moments of my feet in the grass at sunrise.
Today I pulled over at a coffee house with a shady brick patio and had a scone and some soup in the shade - instead of racing home to get life in order after my weekend away. It's hard to indulge myself this way, but I'm trying to practice the art of resting.
After this weekend away, I feel better than I have in a year. Why? Because I relaxed more than I can remember in a long time. Not striving or pushing myself to be anything other than who I am in that exact moment. How often do we do that?
Not enough.
So I'm doing it now. And then I'll go home and put my sweats back on and get back to work. But for now, I'm here.

Re•building joy - letters

I'm known (or at least I used to be) for being a faithful letter writer. Email has had an impact for sure, but I love getting mail and tend to find folks like myself who also love to exchange letters.
Many parts of me became buried in these past few years of motherhood and my misadventures as a foster mom. One of them was my ability to keep in touch with my friends. I still sent letters to a select few. I still managed to get some cards as care packages out over the past two years, but things have all but dried up the past year. I didn't have nights of writing letters to beloved friends across the miles. I barely kept in touch with my friends in LA. If you didn't live in my neighborhood - and sometimes if you did - or weren't in my quilt guild - ... [silence].
Part of my joy•building is trying to reclaim things I remember loving before. I remember when I had broken my knee in high school and had to relearn how to act "natural" when I walked after surgery. It kind of feels like that... ... It takes effort to remember the parts of that may flit around happily in a time of joy, but disappear in times of grief and loss, and all the other feelings we had...
So tonight, I wrote letters. And drank strawberry tea (out of my Meetinghouse Farms mug which I made from the Worth family's farm logo a while ago)
It wasn't instantly easy, but I know it's "me". And I want to be here for my friends, after so long gone.

Re•building Joy - The Courage Quilt

I've already announced that it's done, but today I added the label and wrapped the 100% hand sewn quilt.
The label says, "to the bravest person we have ever met".

Making this quilt calmed my nerves during that crazy year. Having her (the giftee, our social worker) alongside us, gave me courage.

I'm quietly joyful that pain can be turned into something beautiful. I'm learning that by releasing this pain slowly and appropriately, it's like a fizzy soda that I am able to let out.
If things come out in methods of beauty and art, they seem to be in a manner that I can control. As I share the art and meaning, I'm able to tell small parts of my story without crumbling into fragile pieces.
By sharing this with you and others, some of those fizzy bubbles of pain are released slowly. And some beauty can rise from the ashes.

 I have to also admit that I am happy to let this quilt out of my hands. It is very painful for me to look at. Hundreds of hours of pain, fear, anxiety, anger and dread were channelled into this. It will be a big release to let the gift bring love and joy to someone who matters so much to me. Plus I think it's really pretty!

Rebuilding joy - January 9

Yesterday our pastor read a beautiful prayer by Thomas Merton that I copied into my journal this morning during some quiet time.

 After my appt with my therapist today, I went to Barnsdall Art Park and sat barefoot on a wall in the sunshine overlooking Los Angeles and Hollywood.

Time to be quiet. Time to think... Today my therapist said that as things calm down in life I will also find that pain percolates to the surface... Because my heart and brain are finding safe moments to release it. I think of the cement stepping stone Mimi and I made this weekend. We mixed it up really well and then as things settled, I showed her how tapping on the edges, there will be air bubbles that come to the surface.  "see, we didn't know that was in there. And it would have made your stone weaker, but now it's out. And it will be stronger."

Time to be quiet... I so wish I could heal quickly, in a microwave maybe. But there are some things that seem to have to cure naturally, in fresh air and sunshine... Like cement. And broken hearts.

Rebuilding Joy - January 7

Mimi woke up today wanting to "make a poster". To her that means fabric collages made by raiding Momma's scrap bags and creating a scene on a big piece of canvas.
I offered to help her once it's finished... To anchor the pieces down with some machine stitches. She politely declined. "no thank you. I want it to look completely kid-made."

Rebuilding Joy - Jan 4

I couldn't pic which photo was prettier, so you get both.
The lemon tree in the backyard is going crazy with lemons. Its not a big tree, but it is mighty fruitful.
I'm busy digging up recipes for lemon chicken, lemon cake, lemon everything.... I've been drinking fresh lemonade every day.
These smell just as good as they look. I swear, the sunshine makes them smell better too.

Rebuilding Joy - Jan 3

I took the kids for a hike in Bronson Canyon. Southern California can be weird with weather... The summers are often cold and gloomy, but we always have some strange weeks in January and February that have winter light, but hot summer weather. It was 80degrees this day and we breathed in deep and heard the silence of the canyons underneath the famous "HOLLYWOOD" sign.
This tree in particular caught my attention. The patterning on its trunk blew my mind.

G's quilt

Made for the very special baby boy who I held in my arms from 3 weeks old-16 months old. The entire process of being a foster mom was so distressing that my heart was too broken to start and finish this while he was here. I had to work on this in spurts over the past two weeks to get it finished without too many tears.
I will mail this out today and hope it reaches him safely.
"Baby, we had hoped to hold you forever and we miss you every minute."

sorry, i forgot

for those of you friends who emailed me, asking to be on our update list for foster care, etc... I'm sorry - I lost my list!
please send another email to me about it. and i'll be better at updating...

Keeping the faith

I said I wasn't going to post about foster care for a while, but suffice it to say foster care can be confusing, frustrating and as one blogger put it "emotionally traumatic".
Things are quiet so far this week, but there is always, always the unshakable thought that as mothers we were not designed to love someone and then have to let them go, especially to a situation that is often less than desirable.
I keep this piece of paper up in my sun visor in the car so that I look at it a few times a week. It's helpful to remember who is really MOST aware of everything, even more than overworked social workers and overwhelmed lawyers and judges.