Post Delay While We Heal Dave’s Big Brain

Thank you Heather S. for the amazing gift basket! Those pears were SO delicious! xo
Thank you Heather S. for the amazing comfort food gift basket! Those pears were SO delicious! xo

Often my writing is filled with angst-y, dark moments. It is true. For me, writing pain sentences comes easier than articulating light happy ones. Maybe it is because darkness literally fills me with pressure-cooker dread. Meaning, for my utter survival, I have to let those painful words out. Obviously, I am sure there is a direct correlation to my dark writing and my Seasonal Affected Disorder. And today would be the perfect day to go dark. See, it is our very first blustery autumn day 2016. It is like 40 degrees outside (actually 50), rainy, cold and grey. In my rearview I see Wednesday’s ninety-degree, sunny, short weather. In front of me I see cold snow covered mountaintops and big, gloomy clouds covering Wednesday’s clear blue sky. I could easily find my way to a warm blanket and a Netflix binge (chill or no chill). In the end, and even though the sky is spooky dark, I am happy. Life is good. Dave is great! We feel blessed!

As far as Dave’s big brain goes, well, Dave is healing well. Dave did what he needed to do to get himself better. He stayed off screens for a week, remained in a dark room, and slept and slept and slept. My guess is Dave’s obedience to the routine is the reason Dave is doing so well. And believe me, the last thing Dave is is compliant.

Dave sewing on Kyle's missing button. Homecoming 2016
Dave sewing on Kyle’s missing button. Homecoming 2016

The other day I talked to a psychiatrist friend. According to him, Dave is a classic textbook example of someone who has sustained a head injury. In fact, as far as T.B.I’s (terminal brain injuries) go, Dave’s injury is most likely low grade. And to me, a low grade T.B.I. is a lot easier to digest than the diagnosis Dave received of a high-grade concussion — even though low grad T.B.I. and high-grade concussion are pretty much the same thing (don’t quote me on that).

As a result, lack of self-awareness, better, self-monitoring and short-term memory anomalies are the crazy consequences of Dave’s concussion. I am not talking the typical lose-track-of time Dave or lack-of-volume-control Dave, or even completely-focused-on-his-iPhone Dave; I am talking about the Dave whose short-term memory is a little bonkers. Dave does not remember much about last week (completely understandable). For instance, I asked him if he remembers how upset he was when I grabbed his sore thumb?

“I was never upset!” He proclaimed.

After hearing Dave’s I-was-not-upset proclamation, I needed backup. I asked Kyle to come into the room.

“Kyle, remember when we were helping Dad out of bed and I grabbed his sore thumb?” I asked.

Kyle smiled and responded, “Yep.”

I gently (for real) laughed and continued, “Dave, not only were you upset, you scolded me. You said, ‘Beth, how many times do I have to tell you NOT to GRAB my sore thumb?’”

To which Kyle responded, “Dad, you did.”

“I never said any such thing.” Dave insisted.

Us, Giant's Causeway, Northern, Ireland
Us, Giant’s Causeway, Northern, Ireland

I imagine Dave is frustrated. He knows I am telling him that things are off, but he is not sure how things are off. He does not feel different, but knows I am telling him things are different, that is. Do you trust your wife or your big brain? Because Dave leans towards my interpretation of reality, my guess is he is a little scared (or is just indulging me). I imagine it is no fun to have your wife persistently say,

“Remember this? Remember that? Dude, you are blanking again. Dave. Sweetie, you said the same thing ten minutes ago.” Consequently, you might conclude that Dave he is a little annoyed with me. I am sure he is. Still, Dave takes it. Dave has done what he needs to do.

Dave and I at Eilean Donan Castle, Dornie, Kyle of Lochalsh, Scotland
Dave and I at Eilean Donan Castle, Dornie, Kyle of Lochalsh, Scotland

The pay off: Dave went to work this morning (and has for more than a week now). I drove him. He is still a little slow and disconnected.   If he tires or feels weird, I made him promise to text me. I know he won’t. I know Dave (pre and post-concussed). And because I do, I checked in with him instead. He says he is, “pretty good,” whatever that means? Truth be told, I am not sure he would notice anyway. I am crossing my fingers that he does not go all blank face or repeat himself repeatedly (perseverate). I also hope he finds a way to use the correct noun, or at least cleverly brushes off the gaffe (anomic aphasia), if he doesn’t [wink wink]. It was hilarious (fascinating) the other day when he demanded I hand him the “trash can” when he meant, “shopping bag.” Alas, I am reassured with his ability to talk around the word (a sort of circumlocution) until he is able to produce it. Meaning, I think Dave will find a way to make today work. It is now Wednesday – actually Friday, September, 23. I began this post on September 12. Sure, he is still circumlocution-ing his way to words like, vesting. And at this point I find it sort of amusing that he has discovered (three times over) that I found his black shirt. My mom says Dave reminds her of what it is like to get old, “you are getting a little taste of it now.” She told me.

This morning Dave told me his thumb is still pretty sore. His side still aches, but is so much better.  He can finally get out of bed without feeling significant pain.Most of his cuts and scrapes are healed. He tried to tell our neighbor that he would be mountain biking in a week. Of course we put a stop to that.  Some days I look at his blank stare and think he has paused or even drifted backward. He really likes to play a game on his phone. I remember getting addicted to a video game after my concussion. The game is called, “Peggle,” and yes, I share my worry with Dave.  I am sure I am being overly cautious, but I only have one of him. Mostly,Dave is good. Each day he is better. I know he is moving forward. Progress.

Go Dave!

Dave, Giant's Causeway, Northern, Ireland
Dave, Giant’s Causeway, Northern, Ireland

High Anxiety

Dave, September 8, 2016
Dave, September 8, 2016

At 1:47 AM I walked into our bedroom. As you can imagine, I have not been sleeping much this week.

Dave exclaimed, “My head hurts. I cannot sleep!”
“Where does it hurt?” I asked.
“Behind my eyes. It hurts behind my eyes!” Dave proclaimed.
“Dude, you need to stay off screens.” I responded.
“It’s not the screens. It’s all of this sleep. I am sleeping too much!” He protested.
“Um, that’s not true!” I said.

Maybe he is right about all of that sleep. I am certain he is wrong.

Dave was now out of bed looking for the Advil. I found him some Benadryl. He took both, and we climbed into bed.

His words played like a warning:

“Behind my eyes. It hurts behind my eyes!”

Dave, September 8, 2016
Dave, September 8, 2016

Consequently, as Dave tossed and turned, I worked through the aneurism I was certain he would have. Would I call an ambulance? Of course I would. What about the boys? I would take them with me?

Tossing still, I took the next step and began to plan what we would do at the hospital.

“I really need a shower. “ I thought and almost got up and took one.

I know. I know I am dark. I also know that when I am spinning out of control, instead of ignoring them, processing those dark and dramatic thoughts helps. And last night I worked through Dave’s death. As I felt his warm and restless body next to mine, I quietly cried. I moved closer to him and could not imagine life without him. I held my breath. Obituaries, funeral talks & potatoes were finally the counting-sheep that I needed.

I fell asleep. Dave did too. When the boys were getting ready for school, Kyle came into our room. Dave was still breathing, snoring, in fact. I was now up with the boys. We talked about their day. With their arms filled with backpacks, school sweaters, and a big red bag filled with blankets for the Cross Country meet, we hugged and said goodbye.

I watched as they walked to the car. I yelled, “make good choices,” as I always do, happily laughed to myself, and shut the door.

The Boys At our Front Door on the First Day of School, 2016
The Boys At our Front Door on the First Day of School, 2016

…I will say it. This week has scared me more than I think it should. I keep reminding myself to breathe. I keep acknowledging that it could have been worse. A man died mountain biking the day before Dave. He was a similar age and had a similar type crash. We are lucky. I feel selfish. I feel grateful.

As the week progresses, each day Dave the boys and I joke about how long I have consistently been nice to Dave.

“You have been nice for four days straight.” Eli jokes.

This morning I came close to losing it. Kyle sent me a text from school. He couldn’t find his paper. Google Docs is awesome, except when you write your paper in say your Dad’s account instead of your own. I woke Dave up.

“Will you help me get into Kyle’s account?” I frantically said.

The anxiety was building. I knew Dave and I needed to leave soon. I knew Kyle needed his paper. I was on the phone with Kyle as Dave sat at the computer. He searched for Kyle’s paper. My memory caught up with me so as I watched Dave, I exclaimed,

“Dave. Dave. Wait. I need to be doing that. You can’t be on screens.”

(Ok. I know a few minutes on screens probably won’t hurt him, but then again..)

“I am sorry. Please move. I will look for the paper.” I said.

Dave, Day 1
Dave, Day 1

I could tell Dave was annoyed. I could feel me stripping his control. I hated it. I felt guilty making him look and stressed that I might be causing him more damage. I also know I was probably overreacting. This brain stuff is new to all of us. We found Kyle’s paper. It was indeed in Dave’s account. I emailed it to him and Dave and I were on our way.

Right now I am sitting at a local Starbucks. Did I mention that Tuesday Dave was supposed to start a new job? I know, great timing, right? Today Dave needed to meet the team. Some folks are here from out of town. He showered, shaved and put on nice clothes. Seeing him in his business casual made me feel safe and normal.

I drove him to his new office. He was very quiet. We arrived. I pulled into a spot and told him I would wait nearby. I started looking at Google Maps. I expected Dave to get out of the car. Before his crash if I were dropping him somewhere, he would have already been out the door, and up the stairs. Instead he sat in the car – still quiet.

“Is everything ok?” I asked.
“I want to know which Starbucks you will be at?” He replied.
“Let’s look at the map and find the closest one.” I replied.

We did.

Us, The Fairy Pools, Isle of Skye, Scotland, July 24, 2016
Us, The Fairy Pools, Isle of Skye, Scotland, July 24, 2016

Once he knew where I would be, he left. I am now waiting. I texted him. He says things are going, “pretty well.” I am going to get him soon.

…The meetings went well. Dave was there for two and a half hours.  He is wiped out and home now sleeping. Three hours later and he is still sawing logs. Go Dave! Heal that brain!

—–
PS Thank you everyone for your love and support. Thank you for caring about Dave. He is pretty awesome! xo

My Big Brain Dave, an Update

Big Daddy and Me
Big Daddy and Me

The brain is fascinating, subtle and nuanced. I love Dave’s big brain. As you know, right now Dave needs to recalibrate his.

We are grateful he fell on his face (the head’s crumple zone). And we are even happier for those facial fractures. Supposedly they took the brunt of the force. At this point, I think Dave is out of the woods (crossing our fingers, but pretty optimistic). I do not think Dave will remember much. As you might imagine, he remains sore, scabbed and bruised. His face still looks weird, and his brain is still a little wobbly slow.

He tires quickly and sleeps between twenty  — twenty-three hours a day. Dave says one of the reasons he sleeps so much is because he is completely bored. The boys and I take Dave’s acknowledgement of boredom (which began yesterday) as an excellent sign. Of course connecting that he is bored indicates that his synapses are firing. It also means Dave is respecting the healing process. Go Dave!

Big Daddy
Big Daddy

Additionally, if you catch Dave when he is awake, he is clear, lucid and pretty much Dave, albeit a sluggish (runs out of energy quickly) version of himself. Yesterday, after waking up at about 2:00PM, he decided he really wanted to go to the boys’ Cross Country meet. I relented. He ate something. Then rested. He was literally up for about 30 minutes before he needed a rest. I woke him up and we left around 3:30 PM. We parked close, walked our camping chairs to the finish line. Dave put his ear buds in, sat in the shade. He was quiet and docile. He seemed totally normal – if you don’t know him (he did not look at his phone once — so weird). As you can imagine, the finish line was full of lots of screaming and loud cheers. I could tell the noise was bugging him, even though he never said a word. I stood by the finish. When he heard their names, Dave got up to watch Kyle and Eli cross the finish line. As soon as the boys were finished, Dave and I went home. That was about 4:30PM. Dave rested for a bit. Then randomly decided he needed to work on our sprinklers (6:00PM and for about ten minutes). He rested, ate some dinner and was down for the night.

Kyle and Eli at their Cross Country Meet, Sugarhouse Park, Salt Lake City, Utah
Kyle and Eli at their Cross Country Meet, Sugarhouse Park, Salt Lake City, Utah

Dave describes his present state of mind as “groggy,” or, “cloudy.” He says he doesn’t feel any different mentally, aside from the fatigue. Earlier this week, he described it as fog. I don’t think he remembers he felt this way. He is starting to miss his phone. Moments ago I made a deal with him to stay off of it until Saturday. Earlier today he snuck onto Facebook (on his iPhone, of course). Busted, brain-boy. Hey Dave, did you forget that I am on Facebook too? Possibly. Sure enough, as I was scanning my Facebook feed, I noticed Dave had responded to our friend, Cam’s, post. Dave’s words were clear, thoughtful and articulate. I was elated as I read what he had to say. I also replied and asked Cam to remind Dave that he needs to stay off of screens.

Dave, Day 4
Dave, Day 4

“Promise him it is only for a few more days.”

Of course I also know our behind-the-scenes reality. For his Facebook response, Dave had time to articulate his thoughtful words. I also know that Dave has not worked this week. Instead of anticipating more short-circuits once he is back to full speed work life (I am sure there will be hiccups), we are trying to take one moment to the next.

Nevertheless, Dave’s intellect and sense of humor remains in tact. We are grateful.

Then there is this what I would call the nuance-of-the-concussed: Dave and I were sitting on the couch a little while ago. He started telling me why he was awake during the night,

“There were all of these little cartoon creatures surrounding me feet and arms. I needed to move my legs so I could get into the right spot I could disrupt their connections. Every time I shut my eyes I saw them moving around shooting their little zapping ray. I just couldn’t get them into the right spot to disrupt them.”

I laughed. Dave paused. I could see him make a connection. The he said,

“Maybe I was just dreaming.” (Let’s be clear. He wasn’t dreaming. Dave was awake and was hallucinating.  The good news is that he recognized his “dream” was a little off kilter.)

 

 

 

It is Thursday.

Today I am Both of Us

Us, 9.5.16
Us, 9.5.16

Just after noon on Sunday I heard a knock on our front door.  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Dave and his friend standing outside. I thought to myself, “Doesn’t’ he have a key?” I heard a knock again as I made my way. I opened the door and saw their terrified faces.  Dave’s friend was bracing Dave.  Dave was scraped, bloodied, and completely covered in dirt. I only wish I had had the wherewithal to take a picture.  Instead I believe I did the right then and desperately asked,

“What happened?”

“Dave crashed. He needs a CT scan.” His friend said.

“What?” I said followed by a few expletives as I firmly placed my worried hand on Dave’s wavering shoulder. Now I was terrified.

Dave, Day 1
Dave, Day 1

It could have been much worse. I know that a million times over.  Dave and his friend were near the end of their ride. Dave’s friend was riding behind Dave and watched as Dave went over his handlebars, and landed on his helmeted head, right eye and cheek.  Dave was immediately knocked unconscious. In the words of his friend:

“Then his body went limp. His arms hung straight at his side – lifeless.”

Like a rag doll, Dave continued to slide face-first down the path. He was unconscious for approximately 2 minutes.  His friend, who happens to be a doctor, also told me it took effort to wake Dave:

“I had to shake him and really work to wake him.”

Once Dave was alert, it took another 10 minutes or so for Dave to know who he was or where he was.

We knew that the next 24 – 48 hours should let us know if Dave’s big brain is ok. And yes, that is what they said when they reviewed his CT scan:

“He has a big brain.”  

Those of you who know Dave, and know his insatiable curiosity and need to learn, are probably not shocked to hear that yes, Dave’s actual brain is large.  What we also learned is that Dave has two facial fractures, a ligament thumb injury, a large mystery bruise/pain on his side (probably a bruised hip bone), a big blood blister on his pinky finger (listed here for levity), road rash everywhere and a high-grade concussion (because he was knocked unconscious – and for more than a few seconds). Of course, only time will tell if there will be any long-term effects.

Blood Blister on Dave's pinky finger
Blood Blister on Dave’s pinky finger

It is 2:51 PM.

Dave is still in bed. He does not want to eat. I can barely get him to drink water.  His right eye, cheek and chin are more swollen.  He looks like he was punched in the face. His road rash looks worse, but I have also seen worse.

I, on the other hand, feel anxious, lonely, lost, and very lucky. When something goes wrong or is just not right, Dave is my constant.  He really is my best friend. He gets me. He laughs at my crazy humor. He knows I worry. He knows I over analyze. He knows I feel more than any person probably should.  I can talk to him – always. Even during those times when I literally want to throw him head first off of say his mountain bike, Dave does not run. He engages said moment and fights back.  Sure, while we fight, Dave will most likely be looking at his iPhone. That is what makes Dave, Dave.

Dave today
Dave,  today, 9.6.16

Earlier, but after 2:51 PM (it is now 7:52 PM), Kyle and I helped Dave get out of bed. He can hardly move. It takes two of us to finagle him up. While we were moving him, I touched his very painful and swollen thumb. He shrieked,

“Beth, YOU KEEP TOUCHING IT! How many times do I have to tell you not to touch my sore thumb?”

Kyle and I looked at each other and smiled.  We knew Dave was wrong. I wanted to fight back and say,

“Dave, I have not touched your stupid thumb. Seriously, this is the first time.”

Dave, Today, 9.6.16
Dave, today, 9.6.16

And then I remembered the persistent medical advice we have been given:

“He will seem to make so much sense, but actually makes no sense. Concussions are hard on the concussed and hard on the family. Be patient with him and yourselves. Cut him a lot of slack…”

Somehow in that moment, I was able to I take a deep breath, shut my defensive mouth, and help Dave. I promise I won’t always be this patient. In truth it only took an hour for me to lose my cool.   Dave needed to send an email. He is supposed to be off screens right now. He was stubborn, so was I.

“Dude, just let me write the email.” He insisted.

I backed down. We compromised. He wrote the email and promised to rest stay of screens. I edited it. Thank God. In those few sentences, I could no longer deny the fact that Dave’s head is bonked. Then I felt afraid. I wanted to run to my best friend (Dave) and say,

“Dude, what are we going to do with Dave? Is he even going to be ok? Can you believe how strange he is acting? Did you read that email? Some of it was so well written and then… It is really freaking me out!”  

But today, Dave lies injured in a dark room.

I know concussions are a mystery. I know their results are often unpredictable. Kyle had a friend, who was very seriously concussed. His friend seemed just fine and then wasn’t. It was awful and profound.

Our family is also no stranger mystery and mystery illness. Ate age seven Kyle was bitten by a Copperhead snake. Immediately we were told he would lose his right arm.  Together, standing in Maryland’s Suburban Hospital, Dave and I looked at each other as tears streamed down our faces. Kyle overheard the news. He was elated and exclaimed:

“Mom, Dad, this means I will have a bionic arm!”

“So not cool.” Dave and I said to each other.  And together we told Kyle, “dude, I promise your real arm will always be better.” Thank god the doctors were wrong.

Road Rash
Road Rash
More Road Rash
More Road Rash

A few minutes ago Kyle and I returned from a walk.  We left Eli home with Dave. At some point Kyle stressed,

“Mom, I need to get home. I need to finish my homework.”

I shot back and said,

“Fine.  Let’s go.”

I turned in the direction of home and quickly began walking. I was frustrated and wanted to talk to Kyle like I talk I can talk Dave. I wanted him to comprehend how overwhelmed and scared I feel. Kyle does get it. Kyle is my son and it is not fair for me to impose that kind of worry on him. I am the parent.  As I calmed my insides, my pace evened out. I knew I needed to apologize for being a boob. I did. Then Kyle apologized for being impatient.  This is hard on all of us.

Just two days ago Dave and I were walking, talking and connecting. Dave said,

“Hey Beth. You know what? Our life is really good. It is funny because it is definitely not easy. And it never turns out exactly how we hope it will. But in the end, our life is good.”  

Dave is right. Our life is good. Yes, it is very unpredictable, but whose isn’t? Right now I am grateful. Dave is alive. Dave is not in a coma. Sure, I wish I could have my best friend here to hold my hand, tell me that everything will be ok, and walk me through this tough moment.

But today, I need to be both of us.

Dave, yesterday, 9.5.16
Dave, yesterday, 9.5.16

Learn From Me: Go Easy on Yourself

Me and Big Daddy, Kellie Castle, Scotland, United Kingdom, July, 2016
Me and Big Daddy, Kellie Castle, Scotland, United Kingdom, July, 2016

My first and probably most important words do not come from me. See, recently I watched the documentary, “Amy,” about the life of Amy Winehouse.  I loved it. It was sad and of course I loved how the filmmaker captured her vulnerability. It was fascinating to see video of her before hair extensions, stylists and insane paparazzi. She was flawed (like many of us are).  And even with extravagant vacations, fancy eyebrow tweezing and tons of money Amy remained broken. Like the rest of us, she was trying to get along in this crazy world. The world knows about her insane relationship with alcohol and drugs. Come on, she was filmed smoking crack and filmed incoherent while trying to perform. I am sure she struggled with depression (obviously and I, again, like so many, do too). She died very young and honestly, there is a part of me that wonders if her death is what she needed to find relief.

Near the end of the documentary Amy Winehouse had an opportunity to sing with Tony Bennett. Mr. Bennett had handpicked artists to sing with him for his “Duets” album.  Amy was one of them. I loved how they sang together. I love how beautiful she sounded and how transparent her nerves were. I loved what Mr. Bennett said: “The very best artists always get the most nervous.” It kind of makes sense.

After Amy Winehouse died, Tony Bennett was interviewed about her death.  Picture this. Tony Bennett was walking down the street wearing his smoky-tinted-glasses. In his slightly incoherent-jazzy-voice way he said the following:

“Life is about learning to live.”

Kyle and Eli, Sugarhouse Park, August, 2006
Kyle and Eli, Sugarhouse Park, Salt Lake City, Utah, August, 2006
Eli Sugarhouse Park, Salt Lake City, Utah, August, 2016
Eli Sugarhouse Park, Salt Lake City, Utah, August, 2016. Running the Highland Cross Country Invitational.
Kyle and Eli, Sugarhouse Park, Salt Lake City, Utah, August, 2006
Kyle and Eli, Sugarhouse Park, Salt Lake City, Utah, August, 2006
Kyle, Sugarhouse Park, Salt Lake City, Utah, August, 2016. Running the highland Cross Country Invitational.
Kyle, Sugarhouse Park, Salt Lake City, Utah, August, 2016. Running the Highland Cross Country Invitational.

Exactly!

As Dave and I walked down a new street the other night, I told him what Tony Bennett said.

“It is profound. It is true.” I added, “And it is about learning to forgive ourselves and those around us.”

People. Life really does go by in the blink of an eye. Opportunities will pass if you are not in the space to grab them. Do not beat yourself up. Move forward and find something else. Mostly, do not be afraid to stand in what you want or what you believe. Remember, you cannot control every aspect of your environment. It is simply not possible. I promise when you mean it least you will upset people most. It is just how the universe operates. PLEASE do not let the possibility that you may hurt someone’s feelings keep you from doing what is best for you. Get your shit together, let go and forgive. The end.

Kyle, Eli, and I, Park City, Utah, July, 2006
Kyle, Eli, and I, Park City, Utah, July, 2006

…Ok. So maybe there is a little more.

Exactly ten years ago I was a semi-well known blogger. Upon reflection, blogging (writing for an audience) is one of my great joys. At the time I struggled owning this. Can I blame the fact that I never have felt deserving of my space? Sure. Can I adjust a childhood memory to validate my doubt? Of course I can. Did I step aside so my brother and sister could have the special art classes and be in the high school musicals (without me invading their space)? Yes. I did that too. When I was asked to step aside, my child brain said,

“Beth, you are not worthy.”

As a result, when push comes to shove, when say a college art professor challenges me about “my gift,” I will always freak out. And I will most definitely step aside. Why? It is simple. I cannot believe someone is actually telling me I am good enough. I could never see that people believed in me. I never let the words penetrate, “Beth, you are talented.” Talent was for my brother and my sister. I am certain my parents did not mean for me view life this way. It is just how kids see things. It is how I saw things. I get it. I have also made the same missteps with my own boys.

When it came to my blog, CrazyUs.com, I was also filled with self-doubt and freaked out. I could not comprehend that I deserved a space. I know. It sounds silly. Silly or not. I told you that I was good at self-sabotage. I am an expert at aligning myself with doubters, dieters and critical people. I rationalize warning signs and ignore red flags. So when I had a readership of 20,0000  – 30,000 unique visitors a day, I could not comprehend how awesome my web traffic was. In that early stage of blogging, I had no idea how well I was doing. In fairness, I do not think most of us did. Nevertheless, CrazyUs.com became my thing. It was not a job. It was my passion. It was my therapy, my touchstone and my way to connect. I wrote every day and my words came from my mouth. I did not lie. I did not adjust my stories. My words were my reality. And because I did not know how to believe in myself, I really had no idea about the possibility staring me in the face.

As the words posted each day, I gained notice. I was recognized as Beth from CrazyUs all over the place. It was totally weird and also very cool. I was stopped at airports, the grocery store and church. I was sought out for what I had to say and it felt really nice. Soon I was branching out. I wrote a piece for a magazine and was considering other writing opportunities and sponsorships. When it was suggested I write a book, I actually considered the possibility.

Bottom line is this: I could not see what was in front of me. In spite of all of the opportunity and notice, I had no idea how completely special this moment was. Instead, I doubted and chose to listen to other voices.

Ultimately, instead of cutting myself slack for not being the perfect human, I let my life spin out. I freaked out. I shut my blog down. I ignored a very special and gifted opportunity.  I ignored my voice. I ran away from the healing I was offering through my own experience. Then I moved away.

Since August 2006, blogs blew up. Meryl Streep was in a movie that paralleled the life of a food blogger. Female bloggers were traveling to Africa and kicking it with Michelle Obama. Every blogger found ways to make money, to get free stuff and to give that free stuff away. The closest I came to reengaging was a job offer I received in 2009. I was asked to participate with the development of a now very successful blog conference. I declined.

In the end, I quit blogging for various reasons. I quit as an attempt to spare my mom her continually hurt feelings. I also told myself I was quitting in an attempt to save friendships. Ten years is a great training ground. Because my mom is my mom, and we are tied by our love and DNA, we healed, let go and forgave. (I hope) my mom sees I need to do what I need to do. I see that it is completely unfair to expect her no-strings blessings. The friends I broke up with over blogging, well, that was a fascinating experience. It took me a very long time to process that if it was not blogging, something else would have unsettled these people.  It also took me slightly less time to see that I do not have the power to fix a friendship or fix a person.  Yes. I am human. I still struggle with concept that some relationships will never reconcile. I still hope that my dad and I will high five each other one day. Dreams are fulfilled in Lifetime movies. My dreams are being filled by living my life. As such, I honestly believe we can find a way to healing. [Again] Yes, I will always struggle with the concept that we each see the world through our own lens. Meaning, people will see me the way they choose and there is absolutely nothing I can do to change their perspective.

Interestingly enough in ten years, the pendulum also balanced itself. There are still blogs, but not the crazy explosion. Instead there are the Influencers.  What I chose was healing over fame and success. I do not think I am noble. And because I was afraid, I missed my own comet. I have had to forgive myself several times over. Nevertheless, since I stepped away from blogging in August, 2006, my life as a blogger has never ever been the same.

I only wish that ten year ago that I had a supportive voices in my head like the ones I have now.  I wish I had a Tony-Bennett voice (yes, all jazzy-voiced and all) on repeat saying:

“Hey Beth.  Go easy on yourself. Life, well, life is about learning to live.”  

Us, Park City, Utah, August, 2006
Words imbedded into the foundation of our house, Park City, Utah, August, 2006

Will Black Lives Matter Next Week?

Me and Big Daddy, Salt Lake City, Utah
Me and Big Daddy, Salt Lake City, Utah

Recently it was #humantrafficking in response to sexual violence and literal human trafficking. Then it was it was #Orlando and everyone became #LGBT strong. Of course then everyone had a gay friend! Now, after the horrific and unjust deaths of two black men, and some crazy dude going on an anti-cop rampage, it is about black people because #blacklivesmatter. What I realize is that in my safe (white) neighborhood (including my Facebook community), it is easy to say #blacklivesmatter. It is easy to jump into a cause. See, sex-traffickers, gay people, and black people are not directly interfering with our very white world. And in our very white world, how will black lives actually always matter instead of becoming this week’s convenient and self-glorifying upper-middle-class-white-person #CauseOfTheWeek?

Sure, among the better-intentioned of my peers, black lives, really all lives, are not a cause. To my well-intentioned peers all lives sincerely matter today, tomorrow and forever. For the rest of us, I think we need to face our own reality. What about when no one is looking, will black lives matter then? Will a black life matter when, say, a loud and out-of-control homeless man, a man who happens to be black, approaches your very white child?

Here it is. I am no expert on humanity. I have no degrees in psychology, sociology, or even biology. I am not paid clergy. I am not gay. I am not Muslim. I am not a person of color.

Makeda, Eli, Kyle & Dima, Mound, Minnesota, November, 2006
Makeda, Eli, Kyle & Dima, Mound, Minnesota, November, 2006

I am white.

In fact, I am a woman who lives around a lot of other LuluLemon-wearing, upper middle class white people. The demographic of my neighborhood consists almost entirely of well-educated white folk: lawyers, MBA graduates, high-tech VP’s, dentists, doctors and University of Utah professors. Here in the Country Club neighborhood (yes, that is literally the name of my neighborhood), we do not often see people who look different than us. Because I also live in a high-density white, Mormon, upper middle class area, different and shocking around here is akin to seeing the occasional inactive (fallen), and also white, Mormon out in public, holding a Starbucks cup filled with actual coffee. If we are really lucky, we may see a tattoo or a tasteful nose piercing. As such, I am certain platforms like my Facebook feed, my local retailers, and my sons’ school community are all reflections of my white, upper middle class world.

The best I can offer is my very limited perspective. My family and I travel often and throughout the world. We make a point to walk and learn a community. We seek out neighborhood grocery stores and love to talk to the locals. We love to see a world different than our own. I also grew up lower middle class, often on the brink of teetering out of the middle class. I knew what it was like to have no food in the fridge, to have the electricity shut off, have my father out of work, and to not have enough money to buy the clothes I needed to fit in socially. I began working when I was eleven, babysitting full time during the summers. I needed to babysit so I could afford the “right” clothes and have spending money. I continued working all throughout high school.

Now I am a wife and a mother. I do not work. Moments ago my two sons left to hang out with their friends. Eli is going longboarding. He and his friends will be looking for Pokemon. Kyle is going to a birthday party. He will spend the afternoon hanging out and swimming. Kyle and Eli do not have summer jobs. In fact, they do not need summer jobs. We want them to focus their efforts on getting good grades and participating in extracurricular activities. Next year Kyle will have a summer internship, followed by Eli two years later. Of course these internships are so they can bolster their college applications. Kyle leaves later this week for a Student Body Officer camp. After that, he will go to an ACT Prep Camp and a Peer Court Camp.

Marianne and her kids, Shady Oak Lake, Minnetonka, MN
Marianne and her kids, Shady Oak Lake, Minnetonka, MN
Eli and Dima, Shady Oak Lake, Minnetonka, MN
Eli and Dima, Shady Oak Lake, Minnetonka, MN

All of this to say that I am deeply concerned that hashtag black lives matter does not really touch my world. Instead, among people in my demographic, at best #blacklivesmatter really is the self-congratulatory cause of the week. At worst, it’s something to be annoyed or even outraged by. Further, I am worried that the following and very serious issue will be completely missed: we live in a world where people are separate and NOT EQUAL.

Somewhere we have been taught to fear those who are different than we are. And because we have been taught to fear difference, I think we struggle to see anyone different equally? It is a fact. Black people look different than white people. Orthodox Muslims dress differently than we do and homeless people often look shabby enough that we cannot recognize them at a distance. How can we see black people equally when we simply cannot? How can we have compassion when one black man decides to kill five police officers? How can we see people equally when we assume the veiled and robed lady is a terrorist — or at least knows one? How can we all matter when one of our presidential contenders is all about the divide, suggesting we ban all the Muslims and have the Mexicans build a wall *(directly from his website, by the way) between them and us? Ok. Let me simplify and bring it closer to my own neighborhood. How can black lives matter when even the sight of a white homeless person makes you fear for your child’s life?

Complicating the matter, I wonder, how can #blacklivesmatter, or even any life matter, when we live in a country that was founded on the basis of separating itself from another? Consequently, we separate to differentiate, feel safe and feel comfortable. We surround ourselves with sameness — even black people do that. Nevertheless, when it comes to the fundamental American concept of equality, there is mostly lip service. People of color consistently get the extremely short end of the stick – no question. Beyond hashtag, how can we live in and maintain a world where we we are treated equally?

Marianne and I, Shady Oak Lake, Minnetonka, MN
Marianne and I, Shady Oak Lake, Minnetonka, MN

I was born and raised in Minnesota right outside of Minneapolis. As a result, I must admit that the Philando Castile murder caught my attention more than Alton Sterling’s did two days prior. Falcon Heights, Minnesota, the place of Philando Castile’s murder, is also a predominantly white (*73.3%), middle class urban neighborhood situated next to the University of Minnesota’s St. Paul campus. I imagine it is similar to where I live now. A few days ago my best friend Marianne called me. She currently lives in Minnesota. She has four children. Three are biracial (dad from Africa and white Marianne). She recently gained custody of her fourth, a gorgeous African-American teenage girl. Marianne called as she was driving through Falcon Heights. She called just to tell me how “eerie” and “white” Falcon Heights is.

“I cannot believe what happened here.” She said and then paused. “It’s so quiet.”

Then right before I went to sleep last night Dave shared what he had just been reading:

“Beth.” He said and continued, “Did you know that Philando Castile had been pulled over fifty-two times for minor infractions before he was shot on the fifty-third?”

“Are you serious?” I asked and then kept asking.

My eyes widened and I contemplated how it would be to be pulled over by the police fifty-three times. I thought of the already-prepared statement I would have in my head. As I imagined the police officer approaching, I would want to get it all out there,

“Look officer. I am a good person. I am with my family. Now I am going to reach for my license and registration….”

I imagined Philando saying those same things. I felt physically ill. That is when I lost it. I kept saying.

“How can we change? Can we change?”

The other day I walked into my local Walmart. Right behind me was a well-dressed, clean cut, suburban-looking, middle-aged African American woman. She was wearing a purse-styled backpack. Walking next to her was her adorable tween daughter. The adorable tween gave me a sweet smile, and held the door for me, as we walked in. Right behind us was a Walmart security guard. I did not notice him until I saw him frantically running up to the woman. I assumed he was going to say something helpful such as,

“Ma’am I noticed you left your car door open.”

Nope. Here is what he said,

“Ma’am you cannot take that in here.”

I was completely confused.

“What in here?” I thought.

I come to find that the security guard would not allow her to take her not-large backpack purse into the store. I wanted to say something, but feared I would make it worse for her. I watched the security guard walk her over to a little area all-the-while explaining how “here at Walmart it’s against the rules to wear a backpack into the store.” She was filled with grace and pleasantly placed her backpack into a locker.

Ok. The Walmart security guard was not telling the whole truth. If I had a dollar for every time I have been wearing my very backpack-y-looking and not all all purse-like backpack and walked right past that very same security guard into that very same Walmart, I could buy you lunch. I have never been asked to place my bright green nylon backpack in a locker — ever. (ok. once Dave was after I wrote this post.)

Eli, Makeda, Kyle, Minnetonka, MN, July, 2009
Eli, Makeda, Kyle, Minnetonka, MN, July, 2009

I have driven my Volvo SUV in cities and suburbs all over this country, in nice neighborhoods like Beverly Hills, Potomac, Palo Alto, and oue Country Club neighborhood , and also South Central LA, Oakland, Southeast DC, and west Salt Lake. Never once have I been pulled over for a broken tail light (though I’ve had one) or an expired registration (though I’ve had one — now once) or any other trivial infraction. I asked Dave and he said he’s been pulled over for a registration, but was let off with a warning.

In America, white soccer moms in Volvos don’t get pulled over by cops in Beverly Hills, and they don’t get pulled over in South Central. Black men like Philando Castile get pulled over 53 times for driving in nice white neighborhoods. According to from article in NPR, Black folks in not-so-nice neighborhoods like Ferguson Missouri have it just as bad or worse: the 21,135 people who live there were issued 32,975 arrest warrants for nonviolent offenses, mostly driving violations, in a single year.

Us, Moab, Utah
Us, Moab, Utah (yes, in our Volvo)

Yes, I realize that I’m such a Volvo-driving soccer mom that I just cited an NPR story. Case closed.

 

–This piece was written by David and Beth Adams