Happy Birthday Brings Changes

Dearest Family and Friends,

  For those of you who may be unaware--Seven years ago today our family's lives were forever changed with the birth of our seventh child, John Michael. 

  Well, let me back up- our lives were first changed in the discovery that we were expecting another baby- there is ALWAYS that mystifying blend of excitement mixed with the reality of accepting a whole new person into the family.  However, it was in the discovery of John Michael's genetic condition, Trisomy 18, our paradigm shift of parenting soared, plummeted, and eventually found peace throughout the pregnancy, birth, tentative two days of life, and ultimately death of our beloved son and brother.

  I had started this blog, Harborlily Creative, five years ago in hopes of establishing an outlet of creativity along with a desire to inspire others to use their creative talents.  It became my place to throw thoughts, humorous findings, parenting tips, and the beauty of discovered truths.  I cast my lot into the vast world wide web to see what would be sifted and what just might stick throughout time.  Interestingly, those things I was certain would remain have drifted off and I find the common theme that has remained to be a giant mirror held up to my life..in all it's imperfections, beautiful laughter, silly phrases, and real life moments.  I'm totally cool with that.  Perhaps I'm becoming more comfortable in my own skin after all these years of thinking, "In order for it to be right it had to look a certain way, behave a certain way, sound a certain way, etc."   My life does not resemble what I had envisioned at the start of marriage and motherhood.  In many ways I still struggle with trying to meld my reality with my image of what was "supposed to be."  However, it is the Peace I find in letting go and embracing the joy right in front of me that allows me to accept my life for what it is- my vocation.

   Once upon a time I wrote a book: TRIUMPH about living through John Michael's pregnancy and facing the unknowns after being given an "adverse prenatal diagnosis."  For some reason I thought it wise to keep my social media sites separate.  I had a personal FB page in addition to the Harborlily Creative page- which was renamed to match the book, Triumph, and the new Harborlily Creative page to keep a candle lit for the original hope of encouraging others in their lives and creativity.  I have a website devoted to sharing the book as well:  http://www.triumph-story.com

  Recently during a conversation in which I was discussing my general confusion about what gets posted where, a wise, young woman asked me, "Susan, why do you feel the need to keep all these bits of your life separate?"  To which I responded that, at the time of separation I had thought the average person might find the death of our son depressing and it might be a better idea to have a different place to host those conversations about pregnancy and loss.  Again, this gentle soul carefully offered her opinion that having John Michael was and is a part of my journey.  Our experience with our son helped shape my perspectives for the better in many areas of life, love, and even in discovering God's will and purpose.

  Perhaps it's time to stop separating all these areas that I thought needed boundaries and merge my efforts while embracing the whole of who I am and what I have to offer.

  Just when I thought I was getting comfortable in my own skin I'm shown it's time for growth.  Once again, I'm totally cool with that.  I've heard it said the only constant in life is change...so here we go.  From here on I will be posting under the Harborlily Creative Facebook page and other social media sites listed as Harborlily Creative.  I would GREATLY APPRECIATE your support in liking and following these pages!  More exciting things to come as I explore and develop the ideas that have been percolating for a while now- so please do stay connected!


  In the meantime won't you please join us in celebrating John Michael's birthday by sharing your prayer intentions with him?  He was baptized before his death so we know he carries your intentions to the very throne of God.  This mother's heart is sure of his love for you and his desire to help you find Peace. 

  Happy Birthday Son!



 

 

Pushing Through

 

  Overcoming obstacles is largely a mindset.

  The other night brought howling winds.  I hadn't gotten my walk in that day and I was determined to keep the schedule I had going.  Add to that, the text from my accountability partner telling me to get out in that stinkin weather.  She had run seven miles facing 50 mph winds.  How could I not walk my two measly miles?

  Dusk was due pretty soon after the motivating text came in so I needed to move it.  I sought the child most susceptible to pitying their mother walking alone in inclement weather.  Thank you dear sixth grade son:)  By the time we got to the Peninsula the winds were whipping the waves into a choppy soup threatening to splash if we got too near.  It was necessary to divert my son's growing apprehension in facing the creaking, thrashing limbs of trees lining the path. I tried to talk him into looking horizontally instead of vertically at the overhanging frenzied branches.

 Not even half way to our turn around mark, my son was reaching high-anxiety levels, complete with screaming over the wind, pleading, glistening eyes squeezed in fright, and hands locked over his ears.  "C'mon, we're almost there!," came my return plea.  "I want to go home!  Don't you hear how dangerous this is?," he shouted right before a branch landed behind us with a loud CRACK!  For the first time since I began walking this summer I began to add interval sprints.  "Hey", I panted during the recovery phase, "courage doesn't mean you're not afraid.  It means you feel the fear but do it anyway."  I don't know what reserve of strength kept my son moving forward in the darkening night as the wind screamed, branches yelled menacing threats, and dried leaves accompanied the desolation with their scratchy skittering for cover across the paved paths.  Our backdrop of the rolling water leapt into 3-D focus with intermittent sprays adding to the surreal evening that seemed to intensify in danger the further we went.  We continued on at a quickened pace while I yelled to myself as much as to my frightened boy, "Don't miss the beauty!"  Though justified in our wary state, it would have been a shame to miss the crescent moon taking center stage in the stormy sky.

  We did it!  We made it to the half way mark...now to get back.

  We were face to face with an onslaught of the wind's full force pushing back against our efforts.  My son's arms were aching from his effort to hold them against his ears the entire way.  He resisted my earmuffs and gave me a scathing look at the offer of my fluorescent pink scarf.  My legs were feeling the burn from unfamiliar exertion.  Our clothes billowed out as we held onto one another during the frequent burst of upscaled gales.  Anxious to be out of harms way, my son said, "C'mon Mom, let's run through this next part!"  I knew he wanted to quickly get through the tunnel of trees lining both sides of the next hundred yards.  We had already been stepping over downed limbs.  I felt the leaden weight in my legs and knew I had reached exhaustion..."I can't.  I just don't think I can do it."  Clearly, I had made an error of judgement in pressing on- but we had no choice but to get ourselves back to the car.  We had three quarter mile to trod and we would have to fight for every step.

  That was the moment I realized how brazenly I had encouraged my son about courage as I kept on in the face of his keen terror.  He had kept going...I figured he'd be proud of himself for overcoming his fear.  I hadn't  the extreme mental mountains he was climbing to get over that hurdle.  I truly believed we'd be fine- I had walked this trail in a downpour before though my son had not.  My son is a lean and lanky, natural runner...though I am not.  I looked at the path ahead and made the decision to push my legs and lungs hard!  If I could ask my son to keep going, in what appeared to be a death-defying situation from his perspective, then I better darn well give his request the same respect and push through my perspective which insisted I simply could not.

  I gained insight as we rounded the bend to the safe comfort of our car.  It's easy to ask others to keep going in the face of their struggle when we know the outcome.  It's easier yet if they are our children and we have authority that can demand it.  It would be very good for our appreciation of what we are asking of them if we but walk, or run, in their shoes every now and then.

Linked In...Somehow

  With Thanksgiving a couple days away most people's thoughts drift to family, feasting, giving thanks, pumpkin pies and the like.  There is, however, a group that IS looking forward to all the aforementioned delights of the season...and yet, their focus has already shifted past the actual holiday.  Their heartbeat has already begun to quicken at the thought of the following Monday.  There's a subtle buzz of excited energy that seems to surround the die hards in this group, almost as if they're hearing a call in the close distance but must bide their time until they may answer.

  You very well could be related to this group.  Doesn't matter if you are a daughter, son, spouse, parent, cousin, grandchild or friend to one in this group.  If camouflage, antler rattling, binoculars, walkie-talkies, deer urine, or no-scent laundry soap have entered your home or conversations...you most likely are linked to this breed known as HUNTERS.  Perhaps YOU are the link in your family?

  I have vague memories of my Dad taking my brothers out in the vineyards and woods around this time of year for small game.  Those instances were so rare that I remember a feeling of surprise they knew how to hunt or that my father even owned a gun.  And yet, it wasn't until a few years ago, when I was given a DVD of my Dad's childhood that I learned of his passion for hunting with his family.  His joy was apparent in the black and white footage that captured several excursions with my uncles and people I don't know gathering before, during, and after triumphant hunts.  I grew up in a family of twelve children.  My Mom was in need of as much support and assistance as she could muster.  I've since come to understand that hunting from dusk to dawn was the first of many sacrifices my Dad would make over the years. 

Ironically,  I married a man who, I thought, was hardcore into nature.  Sure, he talked a great deal about animals and loved to take me for walks at his buddy's camp to "show me the beauty of the trails."  I simply had no comprehension of scouting.  I suppose I could have been a little more tuned in to the fact he had owned his own archery shop.  And while he seemed to have a real penchant for brown, green, and olive clothing it was the unusual liking for fluorescent orange which perhaps should have raised some serious questions in me.  There were the couple times I was caught off guard as he startled the heck out of me during one of our nature walks with a spot on crow call.  I remember giving him an awkward compliment on nailing the likeness as I let the question of what type of person learns the calls of the wild fly right out of my mind.   If my Sweetheart told me he was a HUNTER while we were dating it must have gone right over my head and out of my radar with regards to how it could possibly affect my life.  While dating, I realized this sincere, kind-eyed cutie was a man of few words.  Hindsight being 20/20, I NOW see how I greatly underestimated his phrase, "I like to hunt." My experience with hunters were the infrequent, random times my Dad and brothers went out with a gun to see what they could see.


  My accumulated information over the years now reflects my maturing knowledge on the topic.  Whereas, I was used to fall for the line, "Honey, we have to go most nights this week.  The season ends Saturday!"  I now know there is almost always something in season.  The main changes are merely the target and tools used to hit the target.  The urgency I once naively catered to has grown into a respectful, "Hey, babe do you mind if we go out tonight?  The ducks are flying."  The subtle change showing in the question mark. 

I have come to truly appreciate the meat in the freezer with seven of our own children.  I love that my husband has passed on this incredible survival skill to those of ours who want to learn.  Yes, there are a couple daughters in line to take the hunters safety class as well.  The balance of heavy work-load is shifting in these later years.  The babies in bibs I tended to during the hunts are growing into camouflage bibs, worn to scout and call in the deer they only heard about in their youth.

  I've noticed a trend that most hunters skipped a generation.  My husband learned from his grandfather since his mother was determined to never marry a hunter.  She had grown up in a house where hunting schedules inflicted a strain on her parents.  Hunting can be an undeniable passion.  Some might call it an addiction for those who answer the call.  I kind of got swept in before I knew what was happening.  My sacrifices of being the "hunting widow" throughout different seasons have mellowed into a joyful expectation of spending time with those who stay back.  That's been the tricky part.  One of my younger sons recently confessed the reason he stopped hunting with Dad was that I always took the other kids to the movies, out to eat, shopping, and visiting with cousins while they were gone.... 

 So, yeah,  I'm not gonna lie...I learned to be a woman of few words as I would tell my husband, "No, Hon, I don't mind if you take the older ones to go hunting for a long weekend."  Hey, they learn to call, scout, and track.  We learn to "adapt." ;)


 

 

Stormy Changes

  Time to hunker down.

  Last night I was tucking my two youngest into bed, and by that I mean falling asleep smack dab in the middle, when all three of us were startled by a CRASH*Bang*thumpthumpthump.  My littlest woke from a sound sleep, eyes popping open to mutter, "what was that?"  Her older brother clutched me from behind and whimpered his complete undoing during the windstorm.  He's had a phobia of strong weather ever since he was caught on the lacrosse field during a brewing storm.  Lightening had appeared on the horizon and seemed to stretch it's finger to the ground amidst a deafening clap of thunder.  That particular squall had blown in on a tremendously strong wind.  My husband and six of the seven children were present during that traumatizing event.  Most of the kids were coaching or practicing while I was less than a mile down the street...in the gym.  I saw no issue in getting a good workout in while the kids were doing the same.  The youngest wanted to go to the gym's childcare and we had every intention of  catching the last few minutes of practice. 

  Well, I never did have to run over to the field to see them...they came to me...and had my name announced over the loud speaker.  One look at my husband's face while a hysterically crying, little boy clung to his leg silenced my, "Wow...the wind has really picked u..." unnecessary comment.  Some of the older kids were shooting rain-soaked daggers at my flushed face while others were trying to disappear into the carpet to escape questioning glances and outright stares of passing patrons.  My family's sopping exhibition was a sight to behold.  I wanted to join the crew seeking escape as my husband's "exasperated" tone rose while reminding me I had the van...they had to walk in the howling wind and listen to shrieks of terror from my son, whose eyes were still glazed with unadulterated fear.  The gym's receptionist had the grace to appear oblivious to the nine of us gathered a foot from her counter.  The cluster of cubicles that lined the opposite wall hustled into a flurry of fingers dialing suddenly urgent calls and shuffling papers that were in dire need of...shuffling.   Perhaps that day the staff gained insight into my jubilant smile and joyful "hello" each visit; in a family this size there is ALWAYS some issue needing to be worked out with a sweaty gusto.

  So there we lie, in the wake of the "crashbangthumping" all six eyes wide open...bed vibrating from my son's tremulous quaking.  "Hey Hon, I think your saw just fell down the porch steps" I call out to the living room.  Nothing. No reaction til one of the kids asked what he thought it was.  "Uuuumph," he utters from the effort of closing the recliner then, "ooooach," escapes his lips while pulling his poor, injured, and degenerating discs to an upright position.  I hear low mutters about probabilities of the drying rods holding their hunting clothes falling.  The little ones and I hear the curtains being slid, door opening and the silence that follows.  Finally there's "How is that even possible?!?" followed by shuffling, grunts and the solid thump, thump, thumping of what I can only guess is the saw being hoisted back up on the front deck and into our foyer...next to the sizable treadmill we recently had our muscled teenager carry up from the basement with intent to sell.  Yes, my family and our home ARE a sight to behold.  Most likely not your average sight.  However, it's what is not written most days is what defines us.  The tender smiles, giggles, and tickles before eyes begin to close at bedtime; these are the nectar of goodness.  The quiet prayers (and sometimes not so quiet) offered in thanksgiving for all our day held and asking for the grace to draw us closer to Him through it all: these are the channels to the staying power that holds us together no matter what typhoon comes our way.  The days Dad calls all to the garden to witness the miracle of growth from a seed to produce: these are the life lessons that will hopefully instill wonder and knowledge as our children grow into adults.  And of course the thousands of inconsequential moments that ARE life...it's in the living, that we learn.  The lessons seldom come from the moments we get it right the first time...but how we learn from those and do it better when offered a do-over. The best do-overs are the ones where patience, mercy, and attempted understanding take place.

  I've not left my family stranded on a field while I drive off to better myself again and the bulky saw got wheeled down to a safer storage space.  It now occupies the treadmill's former home.  The treadmill does still sit there in the foyer... awaiting offers (hint hint)-- great working condition I just have my reasons ;) *please see post titled Trail Vs. Treadmill. 

  That night's howling winds were a warning that the weather is changing...kinda like this family.  Bigger storms are coming, no doubt.  Definitely time to hunker down and prepare for those storms and changes...and stormy changes. 

  Time to embrace the sleepy time snugglers while they still love lullabies and bedtime stories.  Seek out moments with the pre-teen who has been letting more nights slip by without asking me to tuck him in but still whispers, "I love you Mom," as he heads upstairs for the night.  And while I do appreciate alone time it's so important to remember that there are teens hungering for some alone time with me- even if they don't realize it.  A simple, "Hey, I'm going to the store do you want to ride with me?" opens the door to chatting, laughs, and perhaps questions asked that wouldn't be broached at the dinner table.  And of course there's that college boy...already out on his own, though never too far for me to text "Good night, we love you, God bless you. <3." 

   A good reminder from a bedtime story shared throughout the years:  the big, bad wolf did try to huff and puff and blow the house down...it was the solid foundation that remained intact.

Dear Teacher...

This is a letter I recently sent.  It is edited to protect the identity of all involved except myself as the author.  My purpose in sharing this letter is to: 1) Let you know these discussions are taking place in school- if not your school, then in neighboring schools and your children are witnessing and hearing things you'd never realize if they don't tell you.  So, make sure you are talking (but listening more) to your child, then when the big stuff comes they already know you care.   Knowing you care makes it easier to share.
     2) Encourage you to get involved.  Our children are learning EVERY day.  It is your right, and dare I say duty, to help them process this changing world they live in.  You hold the biggest role of influence in their lives.  Regardless of your belief system and value structure- please don't hand that role over to others who are not as invested in your child as you are.  Doing nothing is still making a choice...it is simply choosing to allow someone else to make the choice for you.
                                                         3) Oh, and you don't have to be mean to get your point across. 

                                          
                                              ****************************************

 
Dear Teacher,

 

  I am writing to you in regards to the discussions that were held on the topic of transgenders in the classroom.  My child came home from school yesterday and needed to talk to me.  My child shared that it had been explained in the classroom a fellow student will be legally changing their name and identifying themselves as the opposite sex from today on.  A discussion had been held the day before, (date given), during which the general topic of transgenders was brought up.  My guess is this topic was broached to prepare students for the announcement which was made the following day, (date given).  I can appreciate you trying to assist this student in making the transition less awkward for all, yet I felt little concern was given to the parents, families, and caretakers of the fellow students hearing about this change.

 

  I understand we live in a changing society and I am not addressing this student's choices, but rather the lack of involving us, as parents, in this discussion.  This is not necessarily a school topic but rather a conversation involving values, morals and ethics which we would have appreciated being made aware of from you, as the primary educator within this classroom.  We would have welcomed the opportunity to have open dialogue with our child before it was announced in the school setting.  I don't know how much notice you were given, but feel at the very least a letter could have been sent home letting us know these discussions had taken place.  

 

  I have heard many times from our child and others that this class is a "family."  I can respect the bond you are forging with this unifying mindset but ask that you would please respect our primary role as parents.  Given that this is our child before they are your student we'd ask that you honor these boundaries and in moving forward, communicate with us before addressing the students as issues involving values, morals, and ethics are raised.  I would greatly appreciate your response back ensuring you received this email and providing an action plan to establish greater parental involvement.

 

Sincerely,
Susan "Mama Bear" Yurkewicz

Bonk On The Head

"Mrs. Yurkewicz?" 
"Yes..."
"This is the school nurse...ummm...I'm calling to tell you of a minor incident involving your daughter..."
Silence... thoughts whirring...what did she do now.

The school nurse rushed on to reassure me that my kindergartner had taken a purposeful, solid, two-fisted bonk on the head during their scheduled Learning Lab with a pretty good nature.  I was told she did not have a headache and had rested with an ice-bag on her head before being evaluated once again and sent back to class.

Truthfully, other than asking if the nurse was sure my youngest child didn't have a headache since she had been complaining of one last night and this morning I was a bit at a loss for words.  I did manage to ask about the "bonk-er" but the nurse didn't have that information, she was there to tell me my daughter was physically fine.  Even now I am still processing this conversation and wondering what type of reaction I'll receive once my daughter is home.

This is the fine line we walk as parents- when to get involved and make a big deal of something and when to  walk the sidelines, smiling and waving our support while letting them know we are near if they need us to step in.  These moments, though perhaps soon forgotten in the minds of our children tempt me to want to place a bubble around those I cherish and ensure their safety in the face of whatever comes.  I can't do that...I know because I've tried.  This little one is number seven and there is no way to intercept the boo-boos, tears, hurt-feelings, and ouchies that come.  Yes, these are the character builders.  They are building character in me simultaneously.  The hurt is a different kind- the pain of letting go.  The comfort comes in realizing that there is One who loves my children more than I and He has their back.

Perhaps it's time to be grateful for the incessant bickering that has taken place here at the homestead for...well, forever.  We've made it a rule that the Instigator must say, "I'm sorry" and the Injured Party say, "I forgive you." Yes, I agree with the children who at times have reared back with, "I'm just saying it cuz you're forcing me."  Doesn't matter, do it anyway.  It's the right thing to do. It's now become a habit within our family.  One they can not get around.  Time stops for them until these words are spoken.

Time for my youngest to take these words into her life where I am not in control.  Took me awhile to realize control was an illusion anyway.  I must practice them when the bonk-er is held accountable...after all my baby was hurt...on purpose.  Yet, a few lines keep coming to mind from the movie Finding Nemo and I'm reminded all these little calls from the nurse and bandaged knee caps from life are all part of their journey and are orchestrated to work for their own good.

Marlin: There, there, there. It's okay, Daddy's here, Daddy's got you. I promise I will never let anything happen to you... Nemo.

Dory: That's a funny thing to promise. Well, you can't never let anything happen to him, then nothing would ever happen to him.


 

Ketchup Time Capsule

 
My oldest is about to turn 18 which is causing tons of reflection on his childhood.  I came across this gem from the good ol' days:

  One evening my husband and I were sitting at the dining table enjoying our meal with our three-year-old son, Isaac.  Isaac was seated next to me with his plate of whatever meal complete with "dipping ketchup."  Trying to get my attention, he began to tap my arm with his little ketchupy finger.  I was wearing a white shirt so I was less than thrilled as I jumped and told him about the benefits to simply calling my name rather than drilling a hole in my arm.  I showed him his fingerprints on my shirt and told him to be more careful.  I even went as far as telling him Mommy doesn't have very many clothes so I really need to take care of the ones I had.  This was in direct relation to the fact that my husband was laid off from his job so money was non-existent.  Of course Isaac didn't even blink an eye before he innocently told me, "that's ok Mommy, you don't even need to worry 'cause you'll get a pretty new white dress when we all go to the feast."  My jaw dropped and I was stunned into a teary eyed silence by my three-year-old's profound theology.  You see, Isaac had recently been asking all kinds of questions about God.  In one conversation he laughingly told me that his cousin Nathan thought that we would eat food in heaven.  I knew he was asking me to tell him the truth about that statement as he asked, "Isn't that silly Mommy?"  After thinking about it, I told him what I knew about the banquet the bible says we'll share together one day in heaven."  Well, this was enough to capture his attention because if there's anyone who loves a party, it's Isaac.  We talked at great length about who would be there and how cool it would be to go to a big feast.  I could see the wheels spinning his imagination as he pictured and made real in his mind this bountiful festivity that had never been matched in his experience.  So real was this feast in his mind that after not discussing it for over a week he applied the richness of God's providence to my worrying about a little ketchup on my sleeve.  Even my husband caught on to the profound wisdom that had just emitted from a child to silence the reasoning of one whose mind was focused on the things of this earth.

  What my child knew to be true he completely trusted in.  And as we are reminded in Luke 12:27 to not worry about anything, Isaac reminded me of this attitude with is childlike trust in God's providence.  I witnessed the Gospel of Luke unfolding before me through the faith of my three-year-old, which shed light on Luke's passage of Chapter 18, verse 17 which states, "Amen, I say to you, whoever does not accept the kingdom of God like a child will not enter it."

  I shall try to live with the thought of how God will take care of all our needs...even if it takes His providing a bit of Shout and Tide to get the job done here on earth.

*** Coming across this writing fifteen years later was like unlocking a time capsule intended to bring comfort all these 15 years later.  As my son's wings are in the process of unfurling and preparing to take flight I'm reminded that we all must go through the process of making the faith we've been taught our own.  And though, at 18 my son might now react the way I did when his younger siblings tap his designer sleeve with splattery condiments...at one time- raw, unblemished faith was there and has burrowed deep within.  The word of God never returns void.  Time to reflect on those choice Scriptures that spoke to me back then...do NOT worry and have child-like faith.  Of course the One who created my son loves him more than I ever could and won't stop reaching out to Isaac as he begins his adult journey. If he could use ketchup on my sleeve to turn my eyes to Him...I'm sure He has more than a few clever methods up His sleeve for my son as well.