What I know about….

Depression.

I have suffered from this illness for most of my life.  More than 20+ years.  I wasn’t truly diagnosed until the last 4 years.

It is genetic to some degree.

It’s more than just being sad for a week or 2.

It can be mild, moderate, or severe.

In serious cases, it is diagnosed as Major Depressive Disorder (MDD).

It has been proven it is caused by a lack of certain chemicals in the brain.

It is an invisible disease.  YES, a disease.  There is truly no cure.

No one chooses to be depressed.

Medicine can make a huge difference in helping.  Only if the medicine or combination of medicine helps the person cope and function.  It may take more than one medicine or more than one combination to work.

If severe over a long period of time, it can lead to suicidal thoughts (even with medication).

There is a huge stigma associated with depression like it’s a weakness.

You can not just pull yourself out of it!

Things people shouldn’t say to a depressed person: think about being happy, think positive thoughts, get over it, pull yourself up by your boot straps, life’s not fair, people have it worse than you, exercise, eat better, ride a bike, and there are many more….

There is a lot more I have learned over the years, but these things seem most important to me.

I want people to talk about their illness to help erase the stigma of depression and medicine to help deal with it.

 

Tough Love…

I’m not sure what others mean by tough love. But to me it was letting Dallas suffer the consequences of her choices. It was my hope that the consequences would propel her towards recovery.
I have seen some people say they are happy with themselves that they didn’t do tough love and I don’t understand that. I loved my daughter, too. Very much. If I had to do it all over again – I would do it differently.
I still wouldn’t support her.
I still wouldn’t give her a home when she was actively using.
I still wouldn’t bail her out of jail.
But –
I would listen more, laugh more and talk more.
I would hug her more.
I would understand that it is not a battle I can fight for her.
I would pray more.
Whether I was a good mother or fell far short of that goal, whether I used tough love or enabled or a combination of everything in-between I wanted what every mother of an addict wanted. I wanted my daughter happy, healthy and free drug addiction, alive, raising her daughter, going to college, and following her dreams.
If anything, mothers are all suffering because our loved ones lost the battle with drugs – and moms were all in there fighting with them. Whether they died in our homes or on the street – we lost the battle, too.
But I urge everyone to really consider if they want to be judged – because we all had the same desire for our children and I believe we all did our very best – even when we fell short.

I borrowed a lot of this post from a post on FB, by a dear friend.  I am no where near forgiving myself, but I know in my mind I tried everything possible to save my daughter, and I fell short.  We, as Moms, are supposed to protect our children and there is no worse feeling than to feel like you’ve failed her.

Endocarditis and my baby girl….

This is what took the life of my beautiful forever 20 year old daughter. This condition is caused by an infection that affects the heart valves. Dallas’s infection was presumably caused by IV drug use (shooting up heroin).

My daughter was an honor roll student, cheerleader, social butterfly, animal lover, and so much more. Her proudest thing was becoming a Mommy to an amazing little girl, Madelyn. 

Making the one mistake to impress a boy and fit it, changed the course of not only her life, but many others, too. 

Dallas was in ICU on a ventilator for almost a month. She underwent valve replacement surgery and a pacemaker put in, not once, but TWICE!  She couldn’t beat the devil. She became sick a third time and the doctors refused to operate again. She was given 6 months and sent home. 

She lost her battle with addiction at 10:00 am on Sunday, July 17th, 2016. She is no longer in pain, depressed, anxious, or battling the evil drug, heroin. 

There will be many more posts about my daughter, addiction, and heroin. 

The White Bag…

If you’ve ever lost someone very close to you or were the person “in charge” of the funeral, you’ve been given the white bag.

My white bag sits on the kitchen table. It really hasn’t moved anywhere in the last 5 weeks. I’ve looked in the white bag for others, but have never gone through the bag. I should put it in her room out of sight, but it’s like some kind of reminder that I have in my line of sight at all times. If I put it away, it will feel like the ceremonial stuff has come to an official end.

I’m scared to touch the bag for fear I may see some of the things in it. See, I know from past experiences what it contains. Only this time there are “other” things. An audio of the service, the video of her through the years that was shown, the nail polish I used to paint her nails, her dragonfly belly button ring, and a piece of her hair I cut to save. Just typing these things out makes me sob. (This is theraputic they say)

A few things have been added to the bag since I brought it home. The death certificate, which I won’t bring myself to look at any time soon and thumb print necklaces we had made. There’s one for me and Madelyn. My mom has her’s, too. When I get strong enough to open those, I will post a picture. I thought I’d want it right away so I could feel close to her, but that’s not how it’s been at all.

I’ve been handed enough white bags in my life, and I don’t ever want to be given another one. Never!

Get The Tissues

Save a place for me, baby girl!

Big Girl Panties

Madelyn, my beautiful granddaughter, wore her first pair of big girl panties to school today.  She was so excited and showed everyone walking in and out of the doors of day care.  Princess ones, she kept telling them, pulling her shorts down to her knees.  Everyone was so sweet and made a huge deal of it.

One of those lasts…you know how there are so many lasts only you don’t know it’s going to be a last.  Last time buying diapers, no more sippy cups, no more carrying them around (although this will last a while longer), no more help needed to wash their hair, etc…

She tried drying herself off after her bath Sunday night, another last.  When will be the last time she helps me cook, helps me feed the dog, water the plants?  Having raised 3 (one still just 8), I know how time flies and before you know it, the list of lasts will be very long.

Along with that list comes lots of firsts.  Firsts I can’t help, but feel so sad about these days like her in her Sophia panties and so many events in years to come whether big or small.  Like today, her Mommy wasn’t there to take her picture in all of her glory.  She will miss so many things, just as Delanie’s Daddy and my Daddy did.

I promised Dallas I would never ever let Madelyn forget who her Mommy was and how much she loved her.  I will document every first for both Dallas and Madelyn.  Firsts should be joyous and I pray every day (all day) that I am strong enough to again some day find joy in all of them.

Delaniebug

A little background on my third baby, although she isn’t a baby, but 8 years old now.  Her daddy and I dated for 4 years before we were married and due to age, quickly began trying for a baby.  He had no children, and I knew he’d be a great daddy.  She was such a daddy’s girl from the beginning.  Because he was disabled, he stayed home and kept her for the first 3 years of her life.  She would run to him for everything instead of me, which I loved, because he was so proud of her.  Showing her off to anyone and everyone that would listen.

We divorced, but he still saw her on weekends and came to parties and field trips.  He tragically passed away unexpectedly at the age of 41.  Our baby was only 5.  She became very clingy and wanted me to never be out of her sight.

Soon after, the problems with her sister began and much of my attention was focused on her.  I left my youngest for 21 days while her sister held on in ICU.  I don’t know that she will ever forget or forgive me for that.  I had also left her for 1 week twice dealing with my own depression and mental issues.  She has felt abandoned numerous times.  Now her sister, who did as much as I did for her when she was young, has also gone on to Heaven.  All those who love and care for her and she loves have left her.

Separation anxiety is a very real thing.  She cries often, never wants to be without me, and finds joy and happiness in very few things.  Please pray that therapy will help bring my happy funny girl back.  She deserves to have a “normal” childhood for what is left before she turns into a pre-teen.  Her childhood innocence has been stolen and replaced with reality.  Reality Sucks!

Celebrate Recovery?

As most people read these words, their immediate thoughts turn to addiction, alcohol, drugs, sex, etc… Someone who needs this is obviously an addict of some kind. They think 12 step program, serenity prayer, sponsors, meetings…. This is exactly what I thought the first time I saw the sign advertising this program at a local church. Honestly, my therapist, we will call her Courtney from now on, had been encouraging me for weeks to find a support group of some kind for my codependency, depression, and worsening anxiety. I went once, realized it was to religious for me and never went back. A few months passed and the situation was getting worse. I had online support groups, but knew I needed to something face to face. I sucked it up, ate their dinner, took the kids to free childcare, and gave it another chance. This night, a wonderful lady not much older than me gave her testimony. She grew up in a fairly normal childhood, but began drinking early, following the wrong crowd, marrying the wrong guys, and ending up enabling her husband and kids. It hit home. We prayed, sane songs, and broke into small groups. Here we discussed the testimony and how we could relate. The women were so welcoming. I began the 12 step program on another night, and this is where the real work began.

Their 12 or really 8 steps are all similar to the AA 12 steps, but are biblically based. We discussed denial and hope. This is the point in which my life changed forever. While I felt I was making great strides, the rug was pulled out from under me. Just days before her death, I had prayed for God to take control of the situation and that I knew he loved her more than I ever could. Why he felt “taking” her meant death, I will never know or understand? But that is a whole different post.

I encourage anyone with hurts, habits or hang-ups, to research their closest Celebrate Recovery meeting. There is a Facebook page with videos and studies, books to help along the way, and as I can attest many warm, caring, loving people waiting with open arms to help you through your life.

http://www.celebraterecovery.com

 

There’s a name for that?

We all know at least one person who knows everything about everything. No matter what it is, they’ve done it even better. Until I began therapy, I didn’t realize there was an actual “medical” term for this person. Narcissist. Who knew? It seems I have an uncanny ability to attract these type of men. Men that are so self-absorbed they have no ability to be emotionally available for others. Why does this happen?  This topic has been put on hold as now I am dealing with the much more important issues of grief and anxiety in my little one. Some reasons I’ve been told already are low self-esteem, no confidence in myself, and trust issues. So I learned something new about others, and someday will dig deep enough to find out how and why it relates to me.

Prepared?

If one more person tells me or insinuates I should in some way find comfort in that I knew Dallas’s time was limited, I will seriously lose it. Yes, she was sent home with hospice, but she was supposed to start to feel bad with plenty of warning just like the 3 times before, come home to her own room, let me lay with her and hold her, say everything we now have left unsaid, and I would hold her as she went to Heaven. So no, I don’t find any comfort in having some type of warning of what was to be. Do people say these things to those who pass away from long illnesses? That they should be prepared since they knew ahead of time. After she came home with hospice, I thought I was preparing myself. She and I had difficult conversations, ones a mom shouldn’t have to have with her teenage child. Funeral songs, flowers, colors, me doing her hair, makeup, and nails, me writing and reading the eulogy. So many promises made and kept. None of this had me prepared for her death.