My Eyes Suck

When I was 10 the eye doctor told my mom I would likely go blind by age 18 if I didn't start immediately wearing hard contacts.  Back then contacts were a big deal.  I was the only kid my age wearing them, and one of the only people I've ever known who wore hard ones.  Without corrective vision, I have almost always been legally blind, but could see fine once I got contacts.  I still had to get new ones every few months or so because my vision continually worsened.

By the time I was 25 I wondered if maybe I had exaggerated that part about being told I would go blind, because A.) that sounds silly, and B.) I never went blind.  Two summers ago I talked to an eye doctor who suggested I try switching to soft contacts.  I never knew how how awful hard contacts were until I tried soft ones.  They felt like satin pillows on my eyes compared to the hard ones, and once I tasted how wonderful my eyes could feel, I couldn't go back.  That was in May.  The doctor would special order trial pairs for me and then I would come back to have them checked a week later.  I literally was at the eye doctor every 1-2 weeks until after New Years, having to order new contacts each time.  My eyes got worse and worse and worse.  He said that was somewhat normal at first, but then it got out of control. At one point he told me I am the only documented case of someone's eyes changing so drastically in such a short amount of time the way mine did.  In two weeks my eyes deteriorated more than the average person's eyesight does in a lifetime.  He had to contact manufacturers and specialists because I was the first documented case of this.  I wish that came with my name in a textbook and subsequently, a hefty check.  He said that when I was 10, doctors thought hard contacts would stop my eyes from getting worse because the hard contact presses against the eye and does not allow it to change very much.  This, they thought, would prevent the otherwise inevitable: my eyes deteriorating until I have no vision left.

Research has since taught them that that only prevents the eye from changing while hard contacts are being worn.  Once they are no longer being used, the eye transforms at a rapid rate to the degenerated state it would have otherwise been in if hard contacts had not been used to postpone the loss of vision in the first place.  My eyes finally leveled out after months and months of readjusting to new prescriptions.  Recently they decided to change very quickly again, and they are at a -11.  It's -13 that they stop making contacts in that strength, so I am getting dangerously close to blindness.  My eye doctor tries to reassure me but he acts more nervous each time he looks at my eyes.  They don't carry contacts at the strength mine are now, but they can be custom made, at least for a while longer.  As a result, I have these debilitating headaches several times a week that sometimes 3 Ibuprofen can't even budge.  I'm tired of not being able to read road signs or look at the computer without getting nauseous.   My husband is too handsome for me to go blind!  Dear God, I promise to read more and watch less TV if you keep me from going blind.

This is the closest example that I could find of what my eyes are like before and after I take out my contacts:

BEFORE

AFTER

Loony Bin

Things have been going better with Izaiah.  We are working on all staying home together as much as possible and confined to two rooms of the house.  Izaiah feels safer and has been bonding to me a lot more.  If we leave the house or let others in, Izaiah has a meltdown and we tend to take several steps back.  Mark still won't allow Izaiah and I to be alone together.  He has this enormous feeling of responsibility if something were to happen when he has stepped out.  It's a valid expectation, it really is, based on the things that have happened in the past, but it's also an annoying one.  We are working with a new therapist and it has been going so well.  Izaiah has only gotten aggressive a handful of times since New Years's.  PROGRESS!!!!!!!!

Also progressing (I hope, finally) is the area of school.  We had an IEP meeting and decided Izaiah needs to be in a therapeutic school.  He is still at a beginner's first grade level and seems to learn almost nothing at school.  They try and have been really great, but his needs are more than they can meet.  He was having daily outbursts to the point that it was a normal occurrence for him to assault teachers or the principal, and he would have meltdowns to the point of throwing desks and chairs in the hall while screaming obscenities.  The school would frequently have to go on "lockdown", meaning everyone is confined to their rooms and could not leave until Izaiah had been de-escalated (average de-escalation time = about an hour).  So clearly this was not a good situation for Izaiah, but also not for the other students!

We told Special School District from Day 1 that we would only allow him to attend one of the three therapeutic schools they listed as options.  Working in the Social Work field, I often "know too much" about abuse/neglect that goes on, especially when it comes to schools and residential facilities.  I could tell you (actually I can't) where alleged or substantiated child abuse has occurred and been perpetrated by staff, and which facilities have tried to cover it up or not done enough to protect its students.  So in looking at the three therapeutic school options, that eliminated one for sure, and another after a little investigating.  The school district decided that he could go to either of the two schools we were not willing to allow him at, but would not let him attend the one we wanted.  We had his school principal backing our decision, as well as several Educational Advocates, teachers, therapists, psychiatrist, etc.  It seemed like they were intentionally holding out on us because I was being so insistent about my child not attending the two schools I had concerns about.  I don't know why it mattered so much to them.  They said he would have to receive homebound services - where a teacher would come to the home and work with him on schoolwork for an hour a day - until we could resolve where to place him.  Before the homebound teacher started, they then refused to come out because we declined the first school they offered.

While trying to figure it all out, Izaiah got expelled from his school for hurting another child.  A week and a half and a lot of phone calls later, and a homebound teacher finally started coming out.  In the meantime, lots of emails, lots of phone calls, lots of advocating, and SSD once again seemed to be punishing us for not having him go to the therapeutic school they wanted him at (aka the least expensive and most unsuccessful school), so they took away the homebound teacher.  They said we were not complying with our son's educational needs.  WE weren't complying with his educational needs.  Mark has not been able to work, clean, cook, or run errands and has had to stay home with Izaiah round-the-clock all day every day with no relief and they think this is our idea of ideal?  Poor Mark.  We looked into hiring an attorney and were not getting very far with that.  Finally a director of something at SSD got too many phone calls so allowed Izaiah to be placed at the school of our choice.  Hallelujah!  He was actually super helpful and validated all the decisions we had made.  Where was he a month ago?  We are not sure when Izaiah starts but are hoping it will be this week.  He has been out of school for five weeks now.  

He spent the night with his grandparents last night, and Mark and I did not go on a much-needed date or clean a single thing around the house.  We stared at the TV in a completely exhausted state and we slept.  We were excited to go to the grocery store and get errands run, but we slept too long to do that.  The hugs I have been getting lately from that little boy make it all worth it.  I don't know what we would do without help, though.  We'd probably all be in the loony bin.  Since we have literally frequented the loony bin so many times this year, I think that qualifies me to joke about it....right?

Izaiah wanted to cuddle with me and I am the happiest mom in the world!

Look how big he's gotten!!!!

Our Community Group guys taking care of the kids.  We have the most amazing guys, it's unreal!

Mark and Izaiah took me on a date on my day off.  Does anyone else find it impressive that I can bend my neck to a 90 degree angle, cuz' I do

This is what we do when we get mad at our house: we rip paper.  That's three phone books worth of paper

Mark is such a good sport to let the kids paint his fingernails pink :)

I found this picture of Koen with the hat I got him.  LOVE these kids!

Our friends made us this for our wall while we were in Arkansas for Dad's memorial.  We came home to find it on our wall, each letter with sweet notes on the backside.

My mom is so cute!

Mark took me to Transiberian Orchestra for Christmas!  It was a blast!  I love dates with my bff!

Just Putting It All Out There

I have been so bad about blogging.  I'll try to get through this update.

Izaiah was in the hospital twice in December for several weeks.  He was completely out of control and it was very dangerous in our home.  Izaiah was being so violent and we could not control him.  He was breaking things constantly, including several doors, and we were living in a heightened state of fear.  He was hurting us daily.  I don't have the energy right now to try to explain what that looked like or how serious things actually were, but trust me when I say that we were fearing for his and our lives. We made the hard decision to have Ezra live with my mom and brothers in Arkansas for a while because it was just not safe for her to be here.  The police kept having to come, and at one point the seargant made some ignorant comments to me about how their job is not to come help us parent our 8 year old.  In the same conversation he also told me it was too much of a liability for them to keep coming out to our house because he was afraid his officers would have to hurt Izaiah because of the severity of his behaviors.  He told me the police would no longer come to our home unless it was to escort Izaiah in an ambulance to the hospital.  I lost count of how many times we did that, having him taken by EMS to the hospital.  When we would do that, we would sit in the ER for an average of 9 hours only to be stuck in a tiny room with an enraged and unstable child, only to be told what we already know: he needs to be hospitalized.  That, or they would just totally not get it and we would feel further defeated and victimized by the system that is supposed to help us.  

I asserted myself - appropriately, I guarantee you - with the police seargant about my understanding that their job was to ensure safety and respond during dangerous situations, and before you know it, the city had filed a nuissance against us.  We were scheduled for a hearing, and our cop friend told us they were likely trying to evict us (aparantly they can do that, even if you own your home???) and needed to hire an attorney immediately.  Fast forward to a lot of prayers and conversations with the city's prosecuting attorney (who was an angel, truly), and they finally dropped the charges.  

In December, we finally began to come to terms that we may need to look at longer term options for Izaiah and his brain disorder.  There are only two intensive residential treatment facilities in the country that specialize in treating what we believe is the largest issue, his Reactive Attachment Disorder.  Those two facilities are in New Mexico and Montana.  After spending a lot of time researching and we made the hard decision to pursue residential treatment.  Mark and I drove to New Mexico to meet with the staff of the treatment facility there.  We were impressed and believed that was what Izaiah needed and our only option.  Problem was, it would be a two year treatment and a quarter of a million dollars.  Mark and I looked for housing, jobs, you name it, down there and just could not figure out how to make it work with the magnitude of expenses.  The state of Missouri refused to pay for it, even though they are obligated by law, by the way, so we started an uphill battle of fighting to get the treatment funded.  Another adoptive family in St. Louis is fighting the same battle and brought a lawsuit against the state for the same reasons, and even they are not getting anywhere for a while, so we decided to stop fighting.  Truth be told, we were both out of energy or any extra emotional anything to fight this AND deal with our sick child.  I was going from work straight to the hospital, straight home and to bed, only to start the process again the next day.  I don't know how we were getting through it physically, let alone emotionally.  Mark was spending his days trying to either work part time, or on the phone with the hospitals, therapists, OT's, doctors, pharmacy, insurance company, state adoption worker, supervisor, case managers, respite providers, etc. etc. etc.

Izaiah was in the hospital over Christmas, and I really don't even want to revisit that recollection, even for purposes of updating this blog.  I'll just say it was the most miserable time of our lives.  We got to be with him for an hour and a half on Chrismas Eve and an hour and a half on Christmas.  They weren't going to let us bring him gifts, but finally relented as long as our visit was supervised by staff.  Did they think he was going to be opening pocket knives and bb guns?!  Seriously people.

In the midst of all the chaos, Dre was moved from the residential treatment facility he was ordered to (as a consequence for defying the judge and also to obtain substance abuse treatment) and into a foster home in North County.  He was refusing to come home, but was doing well there and they did not see the need for keeping him in a facility.  In a nutshell, Dre has decided to push us out and distance himself from us and his family so he does not get hurt.  He has been abandoned by literally every single person in his life until he came to our home.  His coping mechanism is to leave people before they can leave him.  We felt like we made so much progress with Dre in teaching him to just be a kid, to trust, and to be loved unconditionally.  When my dad died, he got scared and jumped ship.  I guess to have another person who said they would never leave him all of a sudden be gone reminded him that it hurts less when he shuts off his heart.  So he shut it off.

Dre's foster parent kept giving us the runaround and not bringing Dre to our house when he said we would.  As a result, we have not seen Dre since October and did not see him on our around Christmas.  That coupled with being our first Christmas without Dad, and I literally thought my heart might just stop beating.  I have never felt so lost and devastated.  I don't even want to talk about Christmas.  I can't talk about Dre without feeling sick to my stomach.  It's hard enough to grieve one person, let alone three of my deepest loves (4, if you count Ezra :) ), plus a mix of complicated factors.

Izaiah got out of the hospital just before New Year's and I'm happy to report he has been home since.  We have - once again - drastically changed our parenting approach with him.  We have started seeing a new therapist that specializes in RAD, put him on a gluten free diet, changed his medications, and he will be starting at a therapeautic school in the next week or two.  Things have been going much better.  God has been so good to us in this, even if it is just another calm before the storm.  We are always waiting for the other foot to drop.  Izaiah has been letting me hug him and play with him and cuddle him, and I have been giddy over it!  We'll take the small victories, however long they last.  

I miss my dad.  I miss Dre.  I miss Ezra.  I am deeply grieving the loss of them in my life.  I do know that God is good, even when it does not feel like He is.  I know that God will restore all things, and he is the God of reconciliation.  I have to keep telling myself that over and over sometimes to get through the days.

Our house is still caving in.  Who even cares at this point?  No excess energy to put toward that.

We have amazing - AMAZING - friends who I can't say enough wonderful things about.  God has spoiled us with our church family, our friends, supports, and family who we adore.  Mark's parents have been phenomenal to help take Izaiah on weekends when we desperately need a break.  It has been such a joy to see the restoration in that and how much Izaiah adores them.  My family, particularly my mom and siblings, are the most wonderful, supportive and lovable people.  Izaiah has been grieving my dad a lot, but he is also so sensitive to us and our grief.  He especially has grown closer to my mom and is constantly trying to comfort her.  That's so cool to watch.  

On Sunday, our friends, David and Daniella, came up to us after worship.  David said that God had told him he wants me to be reminded that he has a heart for me and grieves with me when I grieve.  When I am sad, He is hurting as well.  Such a simple reminder and yet such a powerful reminder that God is not watching from afar, but He is here, in the thick of it with us.  His love is a verb and He carries us even when we cannot feel it.  Words escape me, but He is such a faithful God.

Thanks for reading.  My next post will not be depressing, promise!  It will also include pictures!

All This Time

Izaiah told me this is his favorite song.  I feel the words almost jumping off the page.

I remember the moment
I remember the pain
I was only a [kid]
But I grew up that day
Tears were falling
I know You saw me

Hiding there in my bedroom
So alone
I was doing my best
Trying to be strong
No one to turn to
That's when I met You

All this time
From the first tear cried
'Til today's sunrise
And every single moment between
You were there
You were always there
It was You and I
You've been walking with me all this time
Oh,oh,oh,yeah
You've been walking with me all this time

Ever since that day
It's been clear to me
That no matter what comes
You will never leave
I know You're for me
And You're restoring

Every heartache and failure
Every broken dream
You're the God who sees
The God who rescued me
This is my story
This is my story------

All this time
From the first tear cry
'Til today's sunrise
And every single moment between
You were there
You were always there
It was You and I
You've been walking with me all this time
Ooooooooh
You've been walking with me all this time

I hear these people asking me
How do I know what I believe?
Well I'm not the same me
And that's all the proof I need
I felt love, I felt Your grace
You stole my heart that day

Ooooooooh
Youve been walking with me all this time

All this time
From the first tear cry
Till today's sunrise
And every single moment between
You were there
You were always there
It was You and I
You've been walking with me all this time

-Brit Nicole

Daddy's Heart

My siblings and I, especially Hannah and me, are always trying to get my mom to loosen up a bit.  My mom decided to come visit Hannah and me for Mother's Day since Izaiah was in the hospital and it was a rough time.  Like we do at least yearly, Hannah and I decided to try to convince Mom to get a tattoo with us.  We were super prepared this time, telling her it would solidify our bond and pulling out the (fake) tears.  Our idea was to get a tiny, simple little matching heart somewhere on each of our arms.  Of course Mom did not go for that idea, so we did pedicures instead.  I drew one onto my wrist, though, to show her how eensie it really would be.  No luck.

We decided to watch a movie while we did pedicures.  I will never forget the feeling I began to feel halfway into the movie.  I literally felt heartbroken.  It felt crushing, and my heart was physically hurting.  I sat through the rest of the movie, determined not to wuss out on our girls night.  All I could think about, though, was how heartbroken I felt and I could not understand why.  What in the world was wrong with me?  My heart had never physically hurt before.  But it wasn't a pain like "I need to go to the hospital" pain.  It was an emotional pain that tore all the way into my heart. As soon as the movie finished (12:07 to be exact) I ran into the other room and made Mark get up and hold me.  I thought something was really wrong with me because I felt devastated, like someone had died.  Mark convinced me to go to bed and sleep it off, assuring me I would feel better in the morning.

That was the day my dad died.  They found his body the next day.

We got to church the next morning and I knew right away that something was wrong.  The church leaders were rushing around and Mark was crying.  They took my mom and I into a conference room with Mark and some of the elders and Mark told us they had found dad's body.  My mom and I screamed.  It was the worst news, the kind you pray never to get.  No one knew anything except that he was found in the laundry room.  They said it must have happened that morning because he was dressed in his suit as if he were getting ready to leave for church.  I told everyone that he had died the night before, between 11:00 and 12:00, when I had had the heartbreaking feeling, but people insisted that he died that morning.

After what seemed like an eternity, the police concluded their investigation and my mom spoke to the coroner and detective who first arrived on the scene that morning.  They each said that Dad must have died instantly, because he was the most peaceful-looking body they had ever seen.  He hadn't felt a thing.  He didn't even have time to drop to his knees.  He just fell over and was gone instantly.  The autopsy supported their findings, showing that he died from a heart disease no one was aware he even had.

He had performed a wedding that afternoon, and then went to a business meeting in Little Rock.  During the break he played football.  This was the last picture ever taken of him.

I would like to think that's his guardian angel, ready to escort him up to heaven, since no one seems to be able to identify the other man in the picture.  He came home around 10:30 pm, then went in and talked to my brother for a few minutes.  He folded a load of laundry and then started putting in another load.  He went to pour the detergent and realized it was all gone.  That must have been the moment he died, because he never started the water or even made it to the recycling bin with the detergent bottle, something he would have done right away.  This would have put his time of death at around 11:00 pm.

The connection my dad and I have always shared has been very strong, but it puzzled me why I was the one that felt it when he died.  Felt the heartbreak, devastation, and actual pain in my heart.  I didn't know whether to feel comforted by my feelings that night or responsible for not doing something, like calling him.

My mom wanted him to be buried, and we decided to do an open casket for his wake.  My mom, siblings, Mark, Dre, and I gathered in the auditorium to view his body before others arrived.  As we looked at his body for the first time, it was crushing.  Yet there was a comfort I felt because he was not there.  The body was not him, but just a shell.  We all stood there together, trying to accept the moment.  Then we all seemed to see it at once and instantly we all gasped.  A beautiful, perfect little heart about the size of a dime was imprinted on his left hand.  It looked like a tattoo, but of course it couldn't have been.

Mom broke the silence.

"Well....I guess we're gettin' that tattoo."

I can't help but feel like my dad (or maybe it was God, who knows) put that there as a sign.  His last message of love to us.

Miss you, Dad. ♥

Hermann

We went to Hermann last weekend for a close friend's wedding.  Chris Landuyt, a dear, dear friend, married Ashley, who we love, in the most awesome setting.  Hermann is known for being a quaint little German town with lots of wineries.  Mark and I stayed at a bed and breakfast one night and now I'm hooked.  I always thought bed and breakfasts were the dumbest thing.  This was our first time to stay at one (other than Selah, but that was different because it was a retreat) and I realized I have been missing out for all these years!  Ours was called the Serenity Guest House.  The downstairs is a day spa and there are only two bedrooms.  You get the run of the entire house at night, but you have to share a bathroom, which is a little weird.  Totally worth it, though.

We had breakfast at this adorable little bed and breakfast run by a German couple.  Apparently they serve the best breakfast in town.  Their home was so gorgeous and the food did not disappoint.

The wedding was stunning.  It was held in a chapel overlooking the bluff.  Chris and Ashley were so happy and could not have been more beautiful.  My dad was originally supposed to perform the ceremony.  The man who ended up doing the ceremony used my dad's Bible and talked about him during the ceremony.  I was a little worried that others might find it tacky or that it would take away from Chris and Ashley's day, but it was beautiful.  They had a candle lit in my dad's honor that had a poem/message engraved into it.  They did a cool toast in the middle of the ceremony.  .Mark was in the wedding and was so so handsome :)

Hannah always catches the bouquet! 

My mom and sister came for the wedding, and this was their first wedding without my dad.  It was really good to be with them that day. Of course buckets of tears were cried, and we used his favorite shirt as a collective hanky.  I had asked God to let Dad be there for the wedding and to give us a sign that he was.  Other people kept saying they knew he was there or could feel him there. I was later disappointed because I had not felt him at all.

Ashley and Chris then posted this picture, and you can see the heart right under Chris's chin.  If you don't know the significance, I will post that story next.  I think I cried for an hour straight when I saw this.

Turbulance? I'm fine. My Dad is the Pilot.

I'm still crying every day.  Some days it will be 10:30 at night and I think, 'I haven't cried today! I'm getting adjusted.'  And then I get on facebook and see the picture of my dad with us on my sister's facebook wall and lose it.  A few days ago Izaiah begged to go see where Dad was buried when we go to Arkansas.  He asked to dig it up so he could lay there with him and cry.  Until then I had never envisioned going to his grave site.  The thought caught me off guard and sent a wave of longing through me.  He was buried close to my grandparents' farm and my family's property.  In recent years we didn't go there much together, but I can't remember a ride down to the country when my dad didn't drive.  You know the story in the Bible about the horrible storm while Jesus and the disciples were at sea?  Jesus slept right through it like it was nothing, and they had to wake Him up and beg Him to save them.  I have never had a hard time understanding that story.  My dad drove wherever we went, and there wasn't a safer place in the world to be as long as he was in that driver's seat.  I'm sure to some it might seem like such a silly thing but to me it feels like I will never have that innate sense of complete security ever again.  I've lost so much sense of safety with him no longer in this world.

I realized a new layer today of just how much of my identity has always been tied directly to my dad.  I was Jeff Woods' daughter.  Everywhere I went, everyone knew my dad and loved my dad.  I LOVED to tell people he was my dad.  It was instant acceptance, instant trust and respect.  Aside from "wise", "caring", and  "humble", when I think of my dad often a quote comes to mind.  I think you will likely agree that this quote could easily have been made with him in mind.

"People will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but they will never forget how you made them feel."

Monday Night Thoughts

*There have been several break-ins in our neighborhood in the past week.  I just watched a man pushing a lawn mower down the alley.  While I am a bit of a vigilante, it is getting tiring having to call the police constantly.  In the [recent] past I would have chased him down.  Now that I'm a mom, I don't feel quite as obligated to risk my life for someone's lawnmower.  Tonight, however, I was tempted.  A few months ago I had just had it with these two West County-looking guys about my age who keep meeting their dealer across the street from my house.  I yelled at them from my door and interrogated them, gave them a piece of my mind, and then took their pictures on my phone.  Yes, I am ballsy and a bit grouchy when my 16 year old has been purchasing drugs from some idiot in our neighborhood - maybe your drug dealer - and as a result he cannot live in my home.  So no, I will not keep my opinions to myself when you are purchasing drugs within feet of my front door in broad daylight and you can't even do it discreetly.  I have not seen them since.

*I think I have some sort of food allergies.  I'm trying to get back on my strict Weight Watchers diet, cutting out all dark meats and dairy.  When I do that, I feel great.  When I don't, I feel confused, nauseous, and my brain feels funny.  Is that from a food allergy?

*I'm finally starting to feel like I'm coming out of "The Fog".  Words - mine and yours - are starting to make sense again instead of just getting jumbled in my head and making me feel crazy.  It is still exhausting to try to learn to live without my dad, but I'm getting the hang of it.  It's just that every relationship I have has changed, every event, holiday, belief, interest, thought, and experience has completely changed in the context of my dad not being here.  It's hard to explain.

*Dina Lohan's interview on Dr. Phil was fascinating.  Dr. Phil at his best.

*I'm slowly learning that having people in our home does not have to look a certain way.  Sometimes we stop everything to watch "The Cosby Show".  We fart out loud.  It can be Mark telling three little boys who refuse to eat their dinner that he doesn't like the quiche, either.  It can be letting friends scrounge for food, even after we've just fixed a nice dinner.  Guests can clean up after themselves and do the dishes.  I don't have to serve dessert.  It's okay that the floors look filthy.  My child argues with EVERY THING I SAY.  There is always laundry on the family room couch that needs to be put away - always.  That's real life.  Welcome to the Fitzgerald's!

Social Workers

This is so true.  I get paid (crap) to do paperwork and piss people off.