Rest for a Weary Soul

Just about a year ago we made the very difficult decision to fight a private and sensitive battle, publicly. With the help of our talented and supportive friends, Brandi and Danny Ebersole, we created a video to shed light on how our family was facing the challenging diagnosis of Reactive Attachment Disorder.



This video explains what we were embarking on, and why, but we did not discuss the HOW.

Since we opened our hearts and our family up to the world on this matter, I would say that I have received an average of 2-3 messages per week asking for the HOW.  I have not answered that question publicly because I am not an attachment therapist nor am I qualified to diagnose or prescribe treatment to a child. However, I have spent numerous hours discussing symptoms and strategies with strangers who are simply desperate parents who, like me, have found themselves (unofficially) diagnosing their own children out of complete desperation to get them the appropriate support and treatment.

Since we are only a year into what will likely be a life long process, I do not feel that I have enough "victory" under my belt to say definitively what works and what does not, especially for others. However, through insatiable research, brilliant attachment therapy, sound Biblical counseling and good, old fashioned common sense... I feel adequately qualified to confidently prescribe one component of our therapeutic approach across the board to all families who are navigating the war against disordered attachment:

Respite.

res·pite

ˈrespət,rēˈspīt/

noun

1. 1.

   a short period of rest or relief from something difficult or unpleasant.

   "the refugee encampments will provide some respite from the suffering"

   synonyms:

   rest, break, breathing space, interval, intermission, interlude, recess, lull, pause, time out

verb

rare

1. 1.

   postpone (a sentence, obligation, etc.).

   "the execution was only respited a few months"

Yes, to all of this.

Yes to a short period of rest or relief. Yes to a break in what is difficult and unpleasant. Yes to breathing. To space, an interval, a pause. 

Yes. Yes, please.

I literally ugly cry when I read the definition of respite. The thought of respite for my body, my mind, my soul is like seeing a mirage of a spring in a desert.

I have not had a significant time of respite in over a year. I committed to going away for a time of refreshing before starting this intensive therapeutic approach with Harper last year between Christmas and New Year's. I spent that time sleeping and eating and researching the best approach to take. I tried to fatten up and rest up because I was going into battle for my son. Upon returning home, I very quickly lost the weight and strength I had gained during that time. I was weak, underweight, exhausted and extremely lonely.

My friendships have suffered, some have all but disappeared. I stopped attending church, book club, Bible study, and most family or social functions. I did this partly because the process required my constant presence, and partly because it felt like there was simply nothing left of me. I have been very dry and nearly empty.

But, that was 2015. This is a new year. We have made some significant progress, and though we still have a daunting number of obstacles to overcome... I am a little fatter, and little stronger, and a little fuller. I have recommitted to feeding myself - like actually eating food, but feeding myself spiritually, socially, and emotionally. I am no good to Harper when I am a shell. I am no good to my family. I cannot be used by God to the same capacity if I am not growing.

So, 2016 is looking a little different. I am slowly, but surely replacing my personal belongings that have been destroyed during the past year. I am going to the gym every morning to pump  so little  iron. I am making time every day to be with my main squeezes (Jesus, and Tom) and I am being more intentional about spending individual time with each of the kids - who have started to feel a little like collateral damage over this past year. 

And after fighting through exorbitant amounts of guilt, I am taking respite. Sweet, sweet respite.

I was  verbally abused  encouraged by my friends and family to accept a once in a lifetime opportunity to take a free trip to the Bahamas with my friend Sweet Melissa. I know, right? Who needs to be talked into that kind of opportunity??  

Because of the generosity of my dear friend who works for Jet Blue, I am able to fly to the Bahamas using a buddy pass and will be staying for free with Melissa's friend Neda who happens to live in the Bahamas. Did you know people live in the Bahamas? It's true, and it's happening. You know what else is happening? Melissa force-feeding me lobsters. 

It is all happening because I am surrounded by people who love me and want to take care of me and support me in any way that they can. And so God is choosing to meet one of my greatest earthly needs at this time through people with plane tickets and island homes and a violent desire to fatten me up. 

So, tomorrow morning I will get on a plane and fly to the islands. I will breath, I will drink coffee while it is still hot. I will laugh with my head thrown back, and I will attempt to tame what happens to my hair in humid climates. I will let my weary soul find rest, and I will come back with a fresh resolve to do do whatever it takes to love my hurting boy with a healing and unconditional love. 

What the World has Discarded.

I have this little business where I take old, discarded fabric and I upcycle it into fancy things that people wear. My business is called Piccadilly Rose (which was a nickname I had for my first daughter when she was just a precious little baby flower who needed absurd nicknames), and the little motto or tag line or whatever it is called in business terms is this:

Unique. Recycled. Lovely.

A year ago, I was a vendor at a women's Christian conference where Jill Kelly (wife of that famous football guy, but proverbial rock star in her own right) was the keynote speaker. At this year's conference, in addition to selling my wares, I was invited to lead a breakout session and incorporate a crafting demonstration.

This, is easy. I mean, the whole concept of my business is taking garbage and making it into something unique, repurposed and lovely... it's all about taking what has been discarded and giving it new life, making it useful, restoring it's inherent beauty and worth. This notion is not just the concept of my business, it's the concept of my whole life.

When I hold someone's wedding gown in my hands, and I see the dirty smudges at the hemline I can imagine the blushing bride accidentally getting stepped on by her eager, well-wishing wedding guests. I know that the gown tells a story of a day filled with hope and expectation... but I know how that story ended. I know that the reason that gown is no longer being preserved in hopes of handing it down to the little girl is because that happy day and those high expectations ended with an affair and heartache and disappointed hopes. And the dress has been discarded.

When a young widow parts with the shirt and tie of her lost husband, knowing she will never see him dressed up in them again, I know the story of pain and parting that are held in those fibers. And the shirt has been released.

When I pull apart an old, tattered tutu, I know that once upon a time there was nothing that made some little girl feel more divine than twirling in all that fluffy tulle. Eventually that little girl outgrew her tutu, and maybe even outgrew twirling. And more than likely, somewhere along the line she stopped, altogether, feeling divine. And the tutu is forgotten.

What I do is nothing special. I take that wedding gown and I cut and twist and singe and sew until something new emerges, something beautiful enough for a new bride.

 I take the Daddy's shirt and tie, and I cut and twist and singe and sew until a pretty flower emerges for his little girls, and a teeny neck tie replica of that big guy's tie appears.

 I pull apart that useless tutu and I cut and twist and singe and sew it into something divine for the next little twirler. 

It does not make me a lot of money. It does not take much skill, in fact my demonstration at the conference will prove that it is something literally anyone can do. And it is not an original idea. I create these things in response to my God who is the ultimate creator. He is also in the business of taking what the world says is garbage and making it into something beautiful. 

This is the concept behind the business, yes, but how much more has this been true in my life. I think of my own wedding dress, which was the size of a moderately large tent because when I walked down the aisle, I was 8 months pregnant, and not exactly feeling like the pure and beautiful bride. I think of the shirts I have that belonged to the one I loved and lost. I remember the tutus and dresses I twirled in, and I think of the invisible scars that were left on that little girl that made me stop twirling, and I think of when I stopped believing I was beautiful.

We all have these things though, don't we? We have all been told at one point or another that we are not enough, or that we are too much, that we don't have what it takes, that we are ugly, or stupid, or weak, that we are not worth protecting, that we are not worth fighting for. The world discards us, telling us that we cannot be used for good. We are not special, unique or lovely. There is nothing left. 

And then there is this God. 

There is this God who adores us. Who pursues us as we are, who begs us for all of it - the past, the sins, the pregnancy out of wedlock, the shame, the divorce, the broken relationship, the lies, the loss, the grief, the insecurity, the affair, the fear, the crippling self-doubt, the secrets, the abandonment, the rejection, the failure... He wants every bit of it.

And he doesn't want it like the world wants it. The world wants it to consume, to devour and feed off like gossip for entertainment or to shame us, but He wants it for one. pure. motive: 

To redeem it. To redeem us. 

He wants to take it, not to be consumed or used against us... But to be cut and twisted and singed and sewed into something much bigger and more beautiful than we could ever have imagined.

He wants to make all things new. He wants to make us new. 

What if we actually let him? 

--

If you have a story of how God redeemed something ugly from your past into something beautiful that you would allow me to share during my session at the conference, please share in the comments below or in response to the link on Facebook. Or if you would like your story shared anonymously, you may email me at lara.capuano@gmail.com

Day 31: The Next Goodbye

Day 31.

Can you even believe it? When I went into this month, I was experiencing equal parts enthusiasm and dread. I was excited because the three previous years of kindnessing had been very healing and productive, so I felt healthy and energized in a way that I hadn't in years past. I also knew that we just moved at the end of September, we had a wedding to prepare for and #AdamsActs and the blogging on top of it felt like a lot to take on. So, part of me was very afraid!

Now that the month is over, I can honestly say that God sustained me in a way that I needed, and he did a lot of it through you guys. One of you sent me an anonymous card for every single day of October. One of you brought me a meal. One of you sent me flowers. One of you gave me a sweater that made me look trapped inside a sharpened pencil. 

I could not have done this month without those tender mercies along the way. Every like, every share, every post, every act of kindness, every gesture of support provided a sort of balm to my weary, aching heart. I felt encouraged by your participation and connected to a community of people longing to love other people through acts of kindness.

For Day 31, my girls and a neighbor friend went to deliver all the blankets from the blanket drive to Marvin and Denise Robinson, who are dear family friends of ours, and also missionaries to the City of Rochester. 

We had so many blankets that I literally had to stop them from pouring out of our van. With my leg. 

Marlie and London were my little helpers... 

We brought a friend for back up.

Although Annalee didn't seem to need it...

Marvin and Denise Robinson with their kids and grandkids (some of our nearest and dearest friends... Including my beautiful goddaughter Macey on the right.)

Marvin has a bread ministry, where he delivers bread to families in need, and they will regularly deliver holiday meals and school supplies, as well. He and Denise have been in ministry for over 20 years and have devoted their lives to loving and serving the people in the city of Rochester.

If you are looking for final #AdamsActs  for day 31, donating to their ministry efforts wouldn't be a bad way to end the month. You can learn more and/or donate here: 

http://www.missionsdoor.org/missionary/robinson-marvin-and-denise/

After delivering the blankets, we hosted friends and family for dinner and trick-or-treating. If our Seven Dwarves costumes weren't your favorite act of kindness than I am concerned about your ability to enjoy things. Because. Come on.

I mean, Grumpy alone... 

With the hairy chin strap? 

And if Weirdy was one of the dwarves, this would make a lot more sense... 

I am counting all this costume-making as #AdamsActs because it is a family tradition that my brother would have approved of. I enter into evidence

Exhibit A)

Adam as a mummy/shaving cream monster? 

And Exhibit B)

Kristin as the least terrifying cat ever, and Adam as the only clown in history that was adorable and didn't make me throw up in my mouth. 

His precious little body, that was somehow as wide as it was tall in this picture, all dressed up, just touches my heart in a way that I couldn't begin to describe. I don't remember Adam like this because I wasn't born yet. Adam the little boy...

This is the Adam I remember...

The big boy I looked up to. 

The goof. (Seriously, all the time with those socks...)

Then the athlete.

The champ.

The handsome stud/never had a girlfriend/just grew out of his skinny legs.

The young man.

Now that I am a mom though, I can look at those pictures of Adam as a little boy and a whole world of pain will fall upon my chest. Not because I remember Adam as a baby, or as a toddler, or as a little boy... but because I know that there are ones who do. There are aunts and uncles and teachers and, mostly, a mom and a dad who knew him for 17 whole entire years. And they lost him. They lost the baby, the toddler, the little boy, the stud, the champ, and the young man about to make his mark on the world. 

They lost all of it with one stranger's choice. And I look at those pictures of him as a little boy and I see the teeth and knees and legs of my nephews. I see my mother's mouth set in my dad's jaw. I see my daughter and my niece in that squatty little clown, and when I look at these haunting eyes, I see my own.

I don't know how to describe the pain and relief I feel when October passes. I am relieved that I have stopped simply surviving my way through it, and I am happy that I am able to thrive. I am relieved that the burden of sharing daily is lifted. Still, I find that I am also very sad. When October ends, it almost feels like we say goodbye to him again. Over and over, we have to let him go. November 1st is always my saddest day, because I remember so clearly that was the first day without him. 

I remember when they came home and told us "we lost him," and in that moment watching my mom motion to my brother-in-law, Joe, to put away Adam's wresting singlet and warm-ups. They were strewn on the living room floor because I had just dressed up as Adam for Halloween the night before. Even in the midst of her greatest loss, her instinct was to keep mothering, to protect. She didn't want us to see Adam's things in that moment. But I saw it. I saw his things and knew he'd never wear them again. And it was the first goodbye. 

So, as we wrap up the fourth year of these acts of kindness in honor of the first boy I ever loved... it feels like yet another goodbye. Thank you for allowing my family's story to impact so many people through your willingness to pass it along. Thank you for being kind on earth, when he cannot. Thank you for sitting with me while I say the next goodbye. 

Day 30: Baggage, Lunch & Dinner

After the emotional roller coaster I have been on the past few days, I evened out a bit for Day 30, which was nice because I had activities and kindnesses from morning till night. 

I finished most of the children's beards. (Simply being able to read that sentence is a kindness to you, is it not?) I delivered the beards and costumes to school along with a special lunch for Harper's teacher. We have had a lot of struggles with this little guy, and having our family in her class her first year of teaching, is quite an undertaking. She is doing a phenomenal job with him and I have complete trust and confidence in her ability to handle his unique situation while he is at school.

Scarcely is my concern for Harper not front and center in my mind, so having it in the back of my mind for a few hours while he is in her care is an unbelievable relief to me. This gift is something that only a parent of a child with a severe emotional disability could fully appreciate. So, she gets her favorite lunch. 

 And one priceless selfie with Dopey.

As you can see, I arrived at school dressed in full costume, which I consider an act of kindness to all the other mothers since my looking like a total idiot exponentially increases the cool factor for anyone in my immediate vicinity. I brought apples for London's class and volunteered to help with their costume parade. 

 For my final #AdamsActs for Day 30, we delivered more lifesaver/thank you cards for the NICU nurses and also made dinner for Pat and Megan who spend such long days at the NICU with their girls that they should not have to worry about mundane details, like making dinner.

I forgot to take a picture of my dinner, but this is basically what it looked like. 

I want to thank any and all of you who have inquired about and prayed for these two little warrior girls in the NICU. They are doing awesome in so many ways, and have recently joined the four pound club! Being born at 27 weeks around two pounds a piece means this is a huge victory for them. It also shows how far they still have to go, so I beg you all to continue praying for their growth, strength and development. And for Pat and Megan's endurance and peace during this time. Also, maybe pray that you can be friends with them someday, because they are that great, and you're missing out. 

We ended Day 30 with one of our favorite families who came over for dinner, which was a kindness to myself really. One of the things I shared last night with my friend Courtney, is the shift that has taken place for me in October as a result of #AdamsActs. I used to go into October with a private grief, and blogging through it and doing acts of kindness helped me to externalize my grief in a more productive, life-giving way. What I did not expect, was how this would free others to share their private grief with me. 

Over the past four years, countless people have shared with me their deep, personal losses and griefs. I have heard from so many of you about the stages of grief from losing a parent, a sibling, or worse... a child. Many have shared their private grief over the struggle to conceive a child. I have opened message after message about miscarriage and baby loss, and divorce and death and long battles with Alzheimer's or cancer or ALS. Some have shared their childhood memories of a life in foster care, some of you have shared their experience parenting a child with Reactive Attachment Disorder/Fetal Alcohol Spectrum Disorder, and a few of you have shred your stories of having these disorders.

In an effort to no longer carry my own grief privately and alone, I found myself with the holy burden of helping some of you carry some of yours. I do not take this privilege lightly. And I thank you for the honor of doing life with you in this one, small way. 

My sister's bff, Karen, recently shared an article about how dismissive it is to say to someone hurting that "everything happens for a reason." 

In the article it said

"Losing a child cannot be fixed. Being diagnosed with a debilitating illness cannot be fixed. Facing the betrayal of your closest confidante cannot be fixed. They can only be carried."

For the past four years, all of you have helped me carry my pain. And in an unexpected turn of events, I have had the intimate and devastating honor of carrying yours. 

Day 29: Random Acts of I'll Pay Ya Back

I celebrated Day 29 with obscenely puffy eyes and a vulnerability hangover from publicly spilling all my saddest guys in last night's post. I seriously cried like an absolutely hysterical baby while I wrote, and then intermittently afterwards, and then every time I was alone today, which was twice for about 3 seconds each. 

My #AdamsActs was a day spent with my friend Lexi. When people ask me "how do you manage five kids and your business and a move and..." The answer is, well, Lexi. She helps me with the kids, she helps me stain my floors, she moves furniture with me, she will go buy puffy paint in an emergency... Seriously, the girl is willing to do anything to help my family. She is such a servant and a faithful friend. And we never hang out without the kids, so we haven't finished a conversation since nineteen ninety never.

She was the wind beneath my wings the week of the wedding, and girlfriend deserved a day-o-girly-fun as a handsome reward.

Except everything went awry. I won't get into all the details of my hellacious morning, but suffice it to say that according to London, "the smell of a rhino cage" was involved. After handling the rhino, I resisted the urge to hide in the basement in a fetal position, and I got the children to school (even Harper, although an hour and a half late). 

I picked up Lexi and treated her to coffee and a massage and an amazing lunch. Oh wait, that is not how it happened at all. 

1) I forgot my wallet.

2) I realized that right before we ordered coffee.

3) She had to buy the coffee.

4) And lunch.

At least I did find two crumpled dollars in my coat pocket, which I used to "treat" us each to three minutes in one of those very aggressive massage chairs at the mall. There is video evidence of how horrifying this experience was for me, but let's just say that I felt quite violated. 

After all these fails, we ended our day of girly fun with absolute chaos. Kids needed to get picked up from school, diapers were removed (and contents explored/spread) during nap, Halloween costumes were being made, plus dinner and open house at school and my rage-filled destruction of Jay's pack-n-play (or poop-n-play as it has been renamed.) 

Have you ever seen this garbage man lose his head over the garbage that won't come out? This is precisely what I looked like when I destroyed and disposed of my pack-n-play after nap. 

http://youtu.be/sByVwTHYkCE

Poor Lexi.

There were some successes for Day 29 though... the blanket drive is yielding ridiculous heaps of blankets for the homeless! 

And as a kindness to my family, I have been hard at work making our family's Halloween costumes. Technically it is only a kindness to the girls because Jay doesn't care and Harper hates our family themed costumes. He just wants to be Spiderman every year like all the other 8 year old boys on planet Earth. But that's not how we roll. We roll as a family of Santas, or as brides and grooms, or something else absurd. And this year, we will be The Seven Dorves. (London gets pronunciation cred on that one.) Harper is not thrilled. Which is fine, that just makes assigning Grumpy quite easy. 

But the Dorf costumes are almost complete and I only had the one mental breakdown today, so I am counting that as my final kindness for Day 29.