Wednesday

It doesn't matter that there are over 85,000 full-time LDS missionaries serving in the world, or that the Missionary Training Center pumps them out by the thousands every week.

When we met on Tuesday night to see my brother set apart as a missionary, and then for breakfast on Wednesday morning to say goodbye, Heavenly Father poured His love out on our family. My heart was so full.

And when I saw this picture of my brother saying goodbye to my momma for the last time for two years, it became tenderly apparent what a sacred thing it was that my parents had just done. They had carefully loved, taught, and cared for their son for the last 18 and a half years, and then gone and offered Him up to the Lord.

I couldn't help but think of Hannah from the Old Testament and how she lovingly brought her son to the temple after carefully preparing him to serve God.

Something in my heart told me that this moment was no less significant to Him.

Three Pleas from a Suicidal Heart

I very nearly busted my guts tonight. I took my kids swimming with my sisters and their husbands while we waited for my husband to get off work. My sisters not only picked great husbands for themselves, but awesome uncles for my children. I laughed the hardest I have laughed in a long time as they took on various roles like sharks and lifeguards while interacting with my kids in the pool. Aaaand tried to get their wives to play chicken with each other. And on the way home, little girl and I belted out the songs on The Little Mermaid soundtrack like both of us were six. Wow. I found myself thinking how grateful I was for the feeling of joy that comes from pure fun. It felt so good.

And then I remembered why I was going home and quickly getting the kids to bed. It was so that I could write about a subject that's been on my mind and heart all week long. I wanted to believe that it wasn't necessary, wished that everybody could just go jump in a pool with their family and all the problems in the world would be solved.

But I was aware that not even an hour from my house a family I don't know personally is reeling after the death of their beautiful child from suicide. And I've been feeling the stirrings in my heart that make me feel like it's time to write about hard things.

So here we go.

*****

It was hard to read the obituary and not be moved, but the part that affected me most, surely written by his parents, said that someday they hoped to understand the hopelessness that had afflicted his spirit. For it was deep enough to cause him to end his life.

There are strong opinions on suicide, mostly that it is selfish and unwarranted. I shared most of them myself before my own severe bout with depression. I do not write to glorify suicide, but as another voice insisting that if we are going to be anything but powerless in keeping and bringing precious souls back from the edge, we have to be willing to talk about it. 

I have poured over photographs and journal entries from my life ten years ago and have condensed the thoughts they inspired into three pleas from a suicidal heart. They are directed towards any loved one, any trusted individual who has the power to reach out and help.

1. Please believe that it really is that bad. 

I was relieved the first time someone asked me if I was suicidal. It was my bishop. I lied and said I wasn't. But he had taken the scariest things that were going on in my mind and brought them out into the open. I was dying for someone to believe that it really was that bad, to not brush it off and try to cheer me up.

He wisely gave me his home phone, his work phone and his cell phone numbers and emphatically insisted that I not do anything drastic without calling him first. 

Without saying it directly, he had again insinuated that I was suicidal.

He had dared meet me on my scary level. 

It gave me the courage to think, maybe there was help. And in the coming weeks, I reached out and told a few other trusted adults that I was suicidal. I felt safe knowing they knew and felt them vigilantly watching me.

What a scary place for loved ones to go. How devastating to find out that someone you love is suicidal.

But even more painful to imagine is the thought of what could happen if you don't.

2. Please don't be disgusted with me. I understand I have so much to live for.

My blog made the newspaper a few months ago in an article on suicide. At the end of the article, someone commented: "Know that millions of others in this country, and the rest of the world for that matter, would gladly trade places with you. You have no reason to be so depressed you would even consider squandering the good fortune you have."

It's okay, friend, I used to think just like you. 

As I contemplated ending my life in those deepest, darkest moments, I was fully aware of all I had been so blessed to enjoy and, mentally ill or not, had always experienced heartache at the disparity in many other parts of the world. 

That was the worst part. 

Depression often brings with it intense feelings of guilt and impairs your thinking. It is common to have an over-inflated view of the effect of your actions. You truly begin to believe you are doing more harm than good by being here. You truly believe you are doing everyone a favor by stepping out. And you pray they'll understand.

Remembering all you have to be thankful for compounds your wretchedness and confirms just how badly you messed everything up.

3. Please tell me there is someone else who has felt this way.

One day I was having a conversation with a colleague in which we discussed our personal experiences with depression. I had been well for a year or two, but I found it therapeutic to talk to people who had suffered in similar ways as I had. We had made many connections as we shared stories. And then she said,

"But I never considered taking my life."

And then it was like when the computer zooms way out after having been centered on a specific spot on a map. And it took her with it. And I remembered the loneliness.

The kind of loneliness you can experience even in a crowded room. Full of people who love you.

Because I had very seriously considered taking my life. And even after recovering from my bout, decided to keep that little bit about being suicidal a secret. Because it's so frowned upon.

But now I understand my silence wasn't helping anybody.

Because here's the truth. Hard things happen to us in this life. And sometimes the mind and body's response is to go into a depression. And sometimes, one of the symptoms of a severe bout with depression is suicidal thoughts. 

It begins as a symptom. We've all had symptoms of one kind or another.

But it's not like you can see them coming like chicken pox. "Here comes the itching. Here come more spots." In many cases, you are not even aware what's happening to you. You just feel like you are transforming into someone you don't recognize. The real you has been obliterated and is never coming back. That's how you feel.

I have become tragically aware that I AM NOT THE ONLY ONE WHO HAS EVER FELT THAT WAY. These precious souls are everywhere. They pass us at the grocery store, at the gym, at school. Some can't pass us because they are crawled up in their beds and can't get out. And they are dying to know that they are not alone. That they have not created their own special brand of worthlessness but that there is hope. That THIS DOES NOT HAVE TO BE HOW IT ENDS. 

We spit the word suicide out like it's dirty. And I get it. There are not words to describe its devastating effects.  

But that means that we don't talk about it. And it picks up terribly negative stigma. So that people who are experiencing suicidal thoughts begin to believe that they have done something terribly wrong. 

The loneliness that comes from losing the will to live can suffocate you to death.

So let's bring it out of the darkness and talk about it.

*****

Should the momma or the dad who lost their boy this last week read this, from the depths of my heart I say I know there is nothing you wouldn't have done to save him. 

Why some are able to pull out and others don't and leave their families holding the shattered pieces of their broken hearts, I do not know. But I have been praying for you. 

And I write for him today.

The 3 Things I Couldn't Believe My Husband Said As We Watched Inside Out

While I have wished sometimes that my husband understood depression a little better, it has never really hindered the happiness of our marriage.

He supported my desire to publish this blog. He read it as I was preparing to publish it and said, "Yeah, you sound like you were really sad. I'm glad you pulled out of it."

He's attempted to relate. "That one time I wasn't able to find work for a few weeks. I was worried I wasn't fulfilling my role as a husband and father. That feels terrible. I imagine if that had gone on for a few months, I could have become seriously depressed."

He doesn't take me lightly when I tell him I'm struggling on occasion. He considers medication and therapy with me when I think I might need it. He prays with me and for me.

He doesn't understand what happens when depression comes to visit, but he understands that it happens. And I love him for it.

*****

I really wonder what other people see when they watch Inside Out. All I could see was a descent into depression so beautifully portrayed, I was wrapping one arm around squirmy little brother and using the other to quietly clean tears from my cheeks.

What's so fascinating about the movie is that not only can you see what's happening to Riley on the outside, but you can see what's happening on the inside. The emotions of life are represented as true characters inside her head and you get to watch how they handle different circumstances that occur in her life.

Inside Out begins with little Riley's happy birth. Her childhood and home life warmed my heart. What a happy, happy girl. Life was simple and oh so sweet. There is Joy. And there is Sadness. But mostly Joy.

As she grows, her emotions become a little more complex. Disgust, Fear, and Anger enter, (like after tasting peas, or after a brush with electricity) but still she's mostly happy. She finds joy in her family, friends, and hockey.

But a move across the country and a new house and school cause some upheaval in her life and her head. The voices in her head are frantically rushing around trying to figure out how to respond to the many complications that start presenting themselves and in all the confusion, Joy and Sadness get sucked far, far away from the headquarters of Riley's brain all the way into long-term memory. They spend most of the rest of the movie trying to find their way back, and Riley is left navigating these new and unfamiliar circumstances of her life with Disgust, Fear, and Anger.

Eventually, in the absence of Joy, who has typically handled most situations up until this point, Disgust, Fear and Anger are completely distraught and even quit assisting for fear that they will destroy everything, and Riley becomes fairly emotionless.

Devastating moments occur outside of her head and inside of her head while all of this is going on.

Riley's mom, sensing she's struggling, makes sure to sign Riley up for a girl's hockey league in their new city because she knows she loves it so much, but surprised when Riley shows no interest and disappointed when Riley comes back from her first practice terribly angry.

Riley's dad comes up to talk to her in her room after a disagreement downstairs. When he tries playing like a monkey or telling her their old favorite jokes, there is no response. She can't even fake it. She lies there, emotionless. It is heartbreaking to watch, especially after understanding what a strong bond they have.

Only a few minutes in, I had connected so personally with this movie that I was fully immersed in it. I was so enthralled by what was taking place before my eyes and how well it was illustrating the descent from a healthy mind into a non-healthy one. And Riley was having some moments with her family and within herself trying to figure out what was wrong that struck way too close to home. And then, shortly after the scene where Riley's lost interest in hockey, my husband interrupted my thoughts.

He whispered.

"Is that what depression is like? You can't find happiness anymore in the things you once enjoyed?"

My brows furrowed. Was he really seeing this movie in a similar light as I was?

"Yeah, yeah, it is. It's scary. You just don't care anymore."

He elbowed me. "I bet you're going to blog about this."

I couldn't believe that he was viewing what was happening to Riley as depression like I was.

As the movie continues, terrifying things are going on inside Riley's head. Due to all the chaos of Joy and Sadness being missing and the choices Riley is making as a result, monuments that represent key aspects of Riley's personality are crumbling. Monuments of fun and goofiness, friendship, family unity are tumbling to the ground and crashing with astounding force. It is devastating.  

YES! YES! THIS IS HOW IT FEELS WHEN YOUR INSIDES ARE FALLING APART! I was crying inside. And then my husband leaned over again.

"She has no understanding of what's happening to her on the inside, does she? It's so much deeper than snapping out of it. You really can't help it or stop it no matter how hard you try, can you?"

Whoa.

I looked at him and nodded, sincerity pouring out of my eyes. And the voices in my head were stunned at once again how dead on my sweetheart was with his comment.

Through much effort and various escapades, Joy and Sadness make it back to headquarters to try and salvage what they can.

Joy perceives for the first time that maybe Riley can't navigate her whole life through primarily joy. That there are seasons when even sadness is important.

And so all the emotions step aside as Sadness takes control. Following a dramatic scene on a bus, Riley returns home and explains to her parents how heartbroken she is at having moved across country from everything that was familiar to her. And she starts to sob uncontrollably. And her parents encircle her in a tender embrace.

He leaned over one more time and I got ready to savor whatever he had to say.

"Even though she's sad, that's better than feeling nothing."

This time I shook my head in disbelief. "You are so right, hon. You are so right."

*****

 I don't know who brought this idea to the table in the Pixar board room. I don't know why everyone decided to go along with it. I don't know how they did it with color and music and images and wit that warmed my heart and entertained my family, but I am so glad they did. Inside Out was a beautiful experience. And completely brilliant.

Neon Sign

Have you ever had a day when a neon sign would come in handy? Let me tell you about a couple of mine. 

Hands clutching the steering wheel, I tapped the accelerator a little harder then I knew I was supposed to. This just became a race, and it was one I had to win.

If the school bus carrying the morning kindergartners beat me home, little girl would not know what to do. We hadn't yet gone over options she had if for some reason Mom wasn't home when she got there. Best case scenario she would make her way over to a familiar neighbor's house. But most likely case scenario she would be a puddle of tears first.

Whether I'd gotten dismissal times mixed up in my head or made one more stop than I should have during my morning errands, I was running a tad bit later than a momma with a kindergartner due home any minute should be.

Two minutes from home I punched the gas til I was going 15 over the speed limit.

Praying I'd be able to evade any cops on the way home, I had an amusing thought. I did not have the time to stop and explain to an officer why I was speeding, let alone to wait for him to write me a ticket. But how nice would it be if I had a flashing neon sign above my car, an electronic marquee that read, "MUST GET HOME BEFORE KINDERGARTEN BUS." He'd see the determination in my eyes and in my grip on the steering wheel as I passed and all of that would be enough to explain my behavior. And I do think he might let me go.

I did not make it in time to meet little girl at the front door that afternoon, but she met us in the garage where I had pulled in seconds before the bus arrived.

Phew.

*****

Growing up I always seemed to have fixations with fear. My earliest memory of being afraid in this way was connected to plastic. Somehow I became aware of the warning labels on plastic shopping bags and what they were there for, and I became terrified that I would suffocate on plastic. If I had had an older sibling, I would have been a very easy target. All you would have had to do to terrorize me would be to stick a plastic bag in my face. Or mention plastic.

I would also become fixated on the fear of dying. I would go through phases of a few weeks to a few months where the thought would consume me. 

As I grew up my fears grew with me. As did the desire to be normal.

And if there really wasn't anything in my carefree young life to worry about, don't worry. There was just a general feeling of impending doom that followed me around for no good reason at all. 

In my early teen years, leaving home exacerbated my fears. If I went to girls camp for say, four nights, my thought process would go like this. "Okay, four nights left. Four nights ago was last Thursday. And I made it from Thursday til now. So I can do this."

While other girls planning pranks, or while engaged in a craft, I was always doing this in my head.

"Okay, two days have gone by. If I can do what I've done to this point one more time, it will be time to go home."

Was I having fun at camp? Kind of. A hearty round of camp songs could pull me out of my anxious thought cycles. I could enjoy s'mores and stories around the fire. When it was all over, I was always glad I had gone. Some of my very best summer memories come from those times. It was just when family and neighbors asked if I had a good time, and I'd say, "YES!", it was like I was trying to convince me as much as I wanted to convince them. All I knew was that the fun was very hard-earned.

Sometimes I would question if this was really how life was to be lived, saying I was fine when I was really a bundle of sick nerves inside. And I guessed it was.

I don't want to be overly dramatic here. I had a wonderful childhood. Devoted parents. Lots of happy family memories. A collection of kids in nearly every house on our street who loved to play kick-the-can as much as I did.

Anxiety, like many other conditions, can be described on a spectrum. I was not debilitated by severe panic attacks. I could attend school without problem. Large group settings did not overwhelm me. And I could get distracted and briefly experience what it felt like to be carefree. Worry was just the lens through which I experienced most of my world and it significantly hampered my enjoyment of life from time to time.

*****

The other day I was going through photo albums on a visit to my parents' house. My siblings and I can say that our happy childhood is thoroughly documented. As I turned the pages, I realized something inside me had changed.

I used to have a mixed reaction to looking at family photo albums. They were full of happy times, but I could also look at my face in many of the pictures and tell you exactly what my fears were fixated on. And I would cringe. And frankly I have always simply come to the conclusion that while I was a nice girl, I was also somewhat of a freak.

When I decided to write down the details of my depression story, one result I didn't anticipate was how extremely therapeutic it would be for me. As I have researched the causes of depression for presentations I have given, I have realized that I had the elements for the perfect storm of a depressive episode brewing in me since my childhood.

Because anxiety and depression are closely related. They feed on each other.

I have realized over the last several months that nearly every awkward moment or experience or phase of my life can be tied back to anxiety. When you look at it that way, all the awkwardness kind of falls away, and all that's left is me simply doing the best I knew how. And everything really was all right.

And so I had a whole lot more love in my heart for me this time as I sat with the photo album on my lap. I didn't cringe this time. I wished instead I could install a flashing neon sign for 10-year-old me, 12-year-old me, 15-year-old me, but not for the outside world, just for her to see. Maybe when she looks in the mirror. And this is what it would say.

"You think that you are a freak. That you're the only one who feels this way. Everyone else seems to be having a great time while you are fixated on your fears. And as soon as one worry is resolved, another steps up and takes its place."

Perhaps we should dispense with the neon sign, because this is not all going to fit.

"You are right that this is not normal. This is not the way everyone experiences life.

"But--this is a real thing. And you are not the only one who lives life this way.

"It's called anxiety. And you're just kind of predisposed for it. And it's okay."

"I know it's uncomfortable at times. But you'll see. You'll [mostly] grow out of it. But because you are familiar with anxiety, you will be more compassionate. It will help you look out for others. Your overall experience as a human being will be richer and deeper. And everything is going to be all right."

Or, condensed, so it can all fit on my neon sign: 

"You are acting and feeling this way because of anxiety. And it's going to be okay."

P.S. This article is fantastic for parents of children who experience anxiety. Or anyone who wants to understand it better.

One More Graduation Letter to a Very Important Graduate

Dear Andrew,

Sometimes I laugh when I think about the totally different ways we have experienced the same family.

You see, I am the front end of the family. I was there for each new baby that was born. We were a house dominated by three little girls. For years. Til that day in 7th grade when I used the pay phone at lunch and between classes and Dad would update me on his brick cell phone how Mom was doing. She was bringing my first brother into the world that day.

You are the tail end of the family. Your life has instead been punctuated by each of your sisters leaving the nest until you were the only one left. Twenty years ago I never would've been able to wrap my head around the idea of Mom, Dad and a teenage boy at home. I didn't even know what that would look like. I was scared of teenage boys.

The time when we lived in the same house together might be even more of a distant memory for you than it is for me. But I wanted to tell you that that makes me no less a proud sister, especially now that your high school graduation has arrived.

I know that we joke a lot that from the moment we got our hands on you in the hospital, you were smothered and mothered by your sisters. And now I stand back and look at who you've become in spite of us. I'm really just part-joking about that. I hope you've also felt us cheering you on.

One of the things I admire most is the way you get a project in your head. From the moment it's born you work furiously until it's sitting concretely in front of you.

Like robots that can sort marbles by color. And potatoes that conduct electricity. And music boxes that play music you punched out yourself.

And PVC instruments. (really, everybody, check this out)

Your appreciation of music far surpasses anything I have ever experienced, and I like to think of myself as musically inclined. I play by the books. But you experiment and create and compose.

I am intrigued by the way your brain works differently from mine.

I love how you take things by the reins and you're not finished til you've put your own creative spin on them. And the rest of us are left stunned by the WOW factor.

I just know that junior high and high school can be rough. And I am so impressed with the ways you have engaged yourself while you're there.

You're like the stuff Pixar is made of.

And now it feels like I've set the stage for advice. I just want to tell you is the same thing I told my former fifth graders last week.

And that is, don't be afraid to struggle.

You are so good at problem-solving and working your way through issues until you get what you're after. You are well-equipped, brother.

But life has a really good way of throwing things at us that are meant to develop new muscles in our character. And it is these experiences and situations that keep us truly living and thriving. But they are often not comfortable. I am still learning this, because I don't like being uncomfortable. When those moments come, it is okay if you don't know what you're going to do next. In coming months, you may find yourself in unfamiliar places and circumstances wondering if you've got what it takes after all. But know you do. You've got the know how we've already talked about. You've got a family that loves you forever. And you've lived your life close to God who is always watching and ready to sustain and strengthen you.

You are WAY cool, little brother.

I love you.

Love,
Brittney

To My First Class of 5th Graders Who Graduate This Month

Dear Alicia, Andres, Angel, Anthony, Austin, Charlie, Cianni, Collin, Dante, Destanye, Gutania, Jennifer, Jonah, Juan, Justis, Kasarah, Lara, Latasha, Maddi, Makenly, Maren, Marisa, Marissa, Mark, Nick, Peyton, Sidney, Susana, and certainly not least, Taryn,

Hi!!! It's your 5th grade teacher! Didn't expect to hear from me after all these years, did you?

You've had many a teacher since your 5th grade year. I wonder if anything sticks out in your mind from the one we spent together. I'll tell you what I remember.

I remember going out to greet you, all lined up for our first day of school together. Rumor had it there was a new fifth grade teacher, but no one knew anything about her. I remember the look of joy in your faces when you saw that I was 24 and beaming in my excitement to meet you.

Even though their first encounter with my last name is difficult for most people, you each learned to say it flawlessly. You went home and taught your parents and brothers and sisters how to say it, and if anyone called me anything other than Mrs. Co-YA-do, I loved hearing you defensively correct them, even though it was my job afterwards to remind you to be polite.

I remember the week we learned about writing letters to the editor. Do you remember how Peyton's letter generated a furious discussion on the online comment boards? A couple more of you had your letters published in the days that followed.

Do you remember the day the mayor came to class in his fancy black and green pinstripe suit? He brought the chief of police with him because I was concerned about the negative attitude many of the boys in our class had toward police officers. You listened so respectfully as they explained their roles and then answered your questions and concerns. And then you treated them like rock stars at the end, having them autograph numerous scraps of paper and in some cases your arm.

Do you remember Red Ribbon Week and how along with all the other activities the PTA had going, I gave you a passionate presentation on how you were never to do drugs? I told you how drugs had damaged the lives of people I knew. I told you how my classmates and I had all worn the red ribbons when we were kids. But that as we got older, there were people and circumstances that disguised drugs as not harmful but fun, and some of my classmates had done them anyway. I fiercely pointed my finger at "you and you and you and you" and told you I didn't want you to fall into that category. Did you stay drug-free like you vowed you would?

How about the Valentines Day Mr. Collado came in so we could demonstrate our salsa dancing skills for you? It tickled my heart to hear some of the girls giggle over how "hot" Mr. Collado was.

All these highlights make me smile.

A funny thing happened yesterday when I went down to the basement and sorted through all I have that remains from our year together. I discovered a stack of letters from one particularly rough day in the classroom. No one told you to write the letters. You wrote them yourselves. "Mrs. Collado, I'll always be by your side when you cry."

"You're the best. Even when we treat you less than you deserve."

"At first I thought that you are new, you would go easy on me, but I have not been going easy on you."

"Thank you Mrs. Collado for not given up and I know you wanted to a couple of times. So would I."

The notes revealed something that may or may have not been painfully obvious to you.

Teaching fifth grade was a struggle for me.

I had gone to college for several years to prepare to be your teacher, but many teachers will tell you that is only the beginning. There is a huge learning curve that most teachers encounter when they hit the classroom.

Frankly, it was hard. Really hard.

But I was determined to give it my best shot. So every morning when I walked into our classroom an hour before you got there, I would shut the door and my knees would hit the floor and I would pray and ask God for help in being your teacher.

He didn't magically make you behave like angels. He didn't cause you to all master fractions overnight. But I do believe we got through the year in one piece and had some meaningful experiences along the way.

I used to think that if I was struggling, it meant that something was wrong. But the further I get along in life, the more I learn that the struggle (as much as I may not like it at first), and the way we handle it, is such an important part of life.

And so, as you stand on the brink of the rest of your life, that is what I want to say to you, my darling 5th graders.

Don't be afraid to struggle. In fact, it will likely be a constant theme for the rest of your life. In many of your cases, it already has been.

A day won't go by that you don't struggle for something.

Warning: not every struggle is worth it. Listen to your heart to help you determine which struggles are so you can use your energy for the ones that matter. Is there a relationship that is draining the life out of you? Is the way you are managing your money making your life miserable? When you honestly look at your life, is it uncomfortable? Do you find you are not being loyal or true to the person you'd like to be? ARE YOU DOING DRUGS? Or engaging in other harmful behaviors? These aren't the good kinds of struggles. I pray that you can shift the way you're doing things and living your life into struggles that will be worth it.

The struggles that are worth it? Relationships that are good for your soul. Being dedicated to your job and carefully putting some money away. Giving diligent effort to the trade or college degree you are after. Making good and honest choices each day so that you can confidently stand in front of the mirror, look yourself in the eye and like who you see.

Not everything will be a struggle. Some things will come easily to you. And pay close attention to them, because those are your gifts. You can use them to better the lives of the people around you.

Not everyday will be a struggle. I hope you can count on many, many hands the days you go to bed with a smile plastered on your face and happiness lingering in your heart.

So was our year a struggle for me?

Yes.

Was it the first time I had struggled?

Certainly not. Stick around for awhile here on this blog that I've created and you'll quickly learn a lot more.

And my struggles did not end when I left the classroom. Among other challenges, before I can go to bed every night I have to put a talkative five-year-old and a demolition derby of a two-year-old to sleep first. But our lives together with their dad are sweet and satisfying.

But back to all of you. I just want you to know that as far as struggles go, you were worth it.

Now go and live a fulfilling life.

All my love,
Mrs. Collado

The Day Sharon Hushed My Fears: A Mother's Day Post

 One night as a new mom, I stood next to my baby girl's crib. She was all swaddled up and it was time to lay her down for the night. But I just couldn't yet. I lingered a little longer. I loved her so much I thought my heart would burst. I knew that this precious bundle in my arms was not going to stay small forever, and as a new mom, the thought paralyzed me. I wished instead I could paralyze time and hold her in precious innocence forever.

As time went on, however, I found that her growing up was not nearly as scary as I thought it was going to be. It was my new favorite spectator sport. Very small things like rolling over and sitting up became very big deals.

And with sending her off to Kindergarten, it has only gotten better. She comes home spouting off facts about Antarctica, and demonstrating how she can count by 5's to 100.

Life is so sweet.

*****

This post is now going to take a major detour: to a whaling boat in Alaska, for that is how we met Joe. The details truly deserve an entire post of their own, but suffice it to say that four years ago, he and my family (my husband and little girl plus my parents, sisters and brother) ended up on the same excursion to go watch whales in Juneau, Alaska, an experience which also deserves an entire post on its own. 

Joe was traveling on his own on vacation from his church where he served as a pastor. His sense of humor and personality meshed so well with our family that day and on the remaining days of our Alaskan cruise, that he has since traveled out our way for weddings and high school productions of Les Miserables and The Scarlet Pimpernel.

Whenever Joe's in town, we get the whole family together for breakfast and lunch and dinner whenever people can make it because we're such big fans.

You could kind of say we've adopted him.

Except that he's already got parents who love him very much.

And last year he decided it was time we met his lovely momma. 

And his darling fiance.  

 *****

One thing I noticed very quickly about Joe's mom Sharon was that talking to her required practically no ice-breaking period. It didn't matter that she'd only been off the plane a matter of minutes, she could talk to you as easily as an aunt who watched you grow up.

And so I was thoroughly enjoying my conversation with her that day as we walked down the street, showing them the sights of our major city. We were swapping stories about what it was like to raise a little boy as Joe and his fiance Jill (with whom it is easy to get along famously as well, how do you think I got that cute picture up there ;)) walked hand in hand in front of us. 

I shared with her my experience of at first fearing motherhood would be one big painful farewell to each stage of my children's childhood, and then expressed what I already said in this post. That each new thing they learned how to do brought me so much joy, it was much easier to move from one stage to the next.

Little girl was bopping around next to us, probably freezing various trees and buildings as she sang Let it Go. "See, there was a time I wanted her to stay three weeks old forever," I said, motioning both arms toward my daughter. "But this age is so fun."

"And it doesn't matter that I've done it all before with his sister, watching little brother grow has been just as exciting. He's grown out of the baby stage, but I like this stage, too!"

Sharon smiled and nodded knowingly. "And you know what?" She pointed to her son a few steps ahead of us. 

"I like this stage, too."

Oh. That was profound.

Sharon went on to explain, "He's a hard worker, I'm proud of all the things he does for his church. He checks in with me from time to time so I can know how he's doing. He's kind of like the best kind of friend you can have. And now that he's found someone he loves and cares for so much, I'm excited about the new life he'll start with her. It doesn't get much better than watching your own child find happiness."

She had done it. She had passed that horizon that I think most of us mothers of young children fear. That someday when they are pretty well independent, they won't need us anymore. And that there will be some kind of final farewell. And so we are dragging, screeching our heels because we are terrified of that day.  

But she had just demonstrated that even when he's pushing 30, a momma can look at her child and say, "You know, I like this stage, too."

And that prospect, which I hadn't ever really considered before, flooded my heart with joy. 

Suddenly the future looked a whole lot brighter.