Depression

It's official. I'm depressed. 

I went to my doctor because it's been long enough that I "should" be better. I "should" not cry at the drop of a hat. My sadness is making people uncomfortable. So I stuff it. I hide in the bathroom and weep and then wash off my tears and go back to being "professional."

Screw you all. And THANK YOU so very much for not having the chops to take care of the Pastor when SHE needs taking care of.

And yes, it appears that in addition to sadness, I have anger boiling inside me, too. Lovely.

Yesterday I had coffee with a friend we've known since the girls were babies. Her youngest went to college for his freshman year last year. I finally had the courage to ask her - "Did you get depressed? Does it get better?"

She said, "First, yes it does get better. And second, yes, I was (and still am) depressed."

And we talked about medications and doctors and perhaps I need to talk to mine about drugs. I made an appointment while we sat in the park, drinking out coffee, while she handed me tissues, and went to see her after lunch. 

Her response was no meds - yet - and to talk to people about my feelings.

I told her that when I talk to people about my feelings, they immediately jump to "FIX IT" mode and don't want to hear how I feel.

She said, "Yes, that's a problem." (YA THINK???)

I see my Spiritual Director next week. We will talk more about this. And maybe I will take some baby steps back to feeling less raw, less edgy, less out of equilibrium.

One can only hope. In the meantime, I guess I will write angry, depressed blog posts and try to find creative outlets.

When I couldn't sleep last night (Oh, hello insomnia, too? LOVELY) I came up with new lyrics to a song from my childhood, "Sound of Silence."

Hello depression, my Old Friend.

I've come to sit with you again.

Because for reasons that I cannot see,

You've decided to move in with me.

And the darkness that fills my soul is real, very real.

Inside our house that's silent.

I have tried to keep with new routines

Because the old ones do not meet our needs

And I find that I am constantly

Searching for a place to find consistency

There is nothing that makes any sense at al, not this fall

Inside our house that's silent.

And the people all just shrug

And say that I must "need" a hug

And they offer simple platitudes

Of ways that I can "make my self" feel good

Their suggestions simply make me feel so sad, very sad

Inside this house that's silent.

So it's off to work I go

Pretending I have an inner glow

For our children who are grown and gone

When I've love to steal back one last dawn

Watch them take their backpacks and head to school, head to school

Not have a house that's silent.

Sung to 'The Sound of Silence"

More damn firsts...

Feel free to skip this post. I need to write it anyway.

Laundry

I did all of our laundry in 3 loads. What.

School started

I didn't need to get up for the bus drop-off or have my phone near by for the "I'm home" text. And going to the store, even the damn PET SUPPLY STORE, had signs for "back-to-school". And there were excited kids and tired parents everywhere. And I wanted to stop the parent and say, "TREASURE THIS!!! One day it goes away and you don't get to take your kids to buy school supplies!"

Groceries

I think this one hit me the hardest.

Last night I went to the grocery store for the first time to do a "real" shop (not just pick up bread and milk and eggs etc). And I realized how much of what I usually buy is because "she likes to make french bread pizzas after school" or "she loves to make nachos."And all that stuff didn't get put in my cart. And there was really nothing I needed to buy other than bread and milk and eggs...

And I got through the check out, to the car and then cried all the way home. Thank God it was dark and I could drive down my street without anyone seeing my tears.

Mealtimes

Did I mention how much I don't like cooking? And now there's only two of us at the table?

Activities

I was the chauffeur (until driver's licenses). But after that, I still kept the master schedule. My life's work means there are plenty of meetings, phone calls and evenings taken up by "life." I fit it around my family's lives, and all was well. A little hectic maybe at times, but we flexed. 

Then I started filling out the activities on my monthly white board... and most days are empty. I discovered that I don't have a life outside of work. And it bothers me. I'm trying not to wallow here, but I don't want to take up pottery making or something, just so I have something to do. That's not the point. I don't know who I am or what I want to do.

Here's the reality, one that brings me to tears... 

There isn't one damn routine in my life that is the same. I'm punching my ticket on this one, but God above, I hate it.

Changing orbits

A Facebook Mama I greatly respect shared how she has had some unexpected changes in her life that hurt more than she thought. She mentioned specifically Sunday evenings, when she and her now-college-girl used to hang out together. It was their bonding time. She was surprised at how much she missed her at a specific time of the day/week.

Commenters responded to her post with all kinds of "FIX IT" suggestions. Some were condescending ("go rent a movie with your spouse") while others were just empathetic. 

Ahem. NOTE TO MY READERS: I do NOT need suggestions on "how to get through this." That is what I am doing, thankyouverymuch. I DO appreciate simple prayers and virtual hugs. Condescending BS I don't need.

As you were...

No, the most helpful comment someone gave her (in my opinion) was when someone posted an essay by Beverly Beckham.  She talked about how she was so emotionally impacted by her children growing up and moving out, and her husband's lack of understanding. "They'll come back" was his response. Yes. But. It is not the same.

Facebook Mama liked this post. And so did I.

I had grappled with how to explain this feeling of world-shifting change in my heart. It was just a ripple with our older daughter 5 years ago. But this year with "the baby" going to college... it was catatrophic emotionally. Which felt really stupid until I read Ms. Beckham's words...

I was the sun and they were the planets. And there was life on those planets, whirling, non stop plans and parties and friends coming and going, and ideas and dreams and the phone ringing and doors slamming. 

And I got to beam down on them. To watch. To glow. 

And then they were gone, one after the other. 

"They'll be back," my husband said. And he was right. They came back. But he was wrong, too, because they came back for intervals -- not for always, not planets anymore, making their predictable orbits, but unpredictable, like shooting stars.

This is the dilemma. Their orbits have changed, their gravitational pull takes them away from us and onto new ventures.

This is as it should be. 

This is also excruciating.

And I am learning to accept both.  

Made me cry...

Beverly,

We've never met... But Lord in heaven above, you know me. 

--------- oo --------

I was the sun, the kids were my planets

By Beverly Beckham | Aug 27, 2006 04:04 AM

I wasn’t wrong about their leaving. My husband kept telling me I was. That it wasn’t the end of the world when first one child, then another , and then the last packed their bags and left for college.

But it was the end of something. “Can you pick me up, Mom?’’ “What’s for dinner?’’ “What do you think?’’

I was the sun and they were the planets. And there was life on those planets, whirling, non stop plans and parties and friends coming and going, and ideas and dreams and the phone ringing and doors slamming.

And I got to beam down on them. To watch. To glow.

And then they were gone, one after the other.

“They’ll be back,’’ my husband said. And he was right. They came back. But he was wrong, too, because they came back for intervals — not for always, not planets anymore, making their predictable orbits, but unpredictable, like shooting stars.

Always is what you miss. Always knowing where they are. At school. At play practice. At a ballgame. At a friend’s. Always looking at the clock mid day and anticipating the door opening, the sigh, the smile, the laugh, the shrug. “How was school?’’ answered for years in too much detail. “And then he said … and then I said to him… .’’ Then hardly answered at all.

Always, knowing his friends.

Her favorite show.

What he had for breakfast.

What she wore to school.

What he thinks.

How she feels.

My friend Beth’s twin girls left for Roger Williams yesterday. They are her fourth and fifth children. She’s been down this road three times before. You’d think it would get easier.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do without them,’’ she has said every day for months.

And I have said nothing, because, really, what is there to say?

Horrible Firsts

This was the first Sunday I was back at church since we did the college drop-off. We've done this before with our older daughter... But today... Going to church without number 2 girl was torture.

Quite honestly, if one more person playfully said, "Hey, you empty nesters!" I was going to punch someone. And the rude comments...  whatcha doin' later? wink wink no kids around wink wink

Dude/Lady -- Really. Enough.

No, I went through the motions, prayed, led, greeted and smiled. And we then came home, exhausted. I was numb. My husband went to the hardware store after church because that's what he does when he wants to commune with universe. I sat in the sunshine, listened to the birds and wept.

Sunday evenings was "girl time." We would go for a latte or wander around a bookstore (never buy anything -- just read!) When it was cold, we would bake something and have hot chocolate parties. Or watch a cooking show. Or... sit and knit and talk. 

My husband watched football games (or basketball/baseball/golf) and it was perfect. 

Tonight... no one is home. My husband has a red eye flight to the West Coast for a business trip. The cats are following me around. And I am trying to do something productive... and failing miserably. 

The night is lasting forever.

I call it BS.

In June 2009, an article in the magazine O proclaimed:

Research is confirming what many mothers have been discovering—that "empty nest" syndrome isn't so empty after all. These days, the classic description of lingering depression, apathy, and loss of identity ("Who am I if I'm not taking care of the kids?") is no longer typical.

I'm calling it BS. Bull. Shit.

The author claimed that women had more things to do outside of the home and thus were not tied to the needs of their children and husbands and home. That they were fulfilled in careers and their own life's pursuits.

Well, yes. But not completely.

I worked hard and long to graduate from seminary, to learn how to do exegesis and preach and pray and care for my congregation. I can write a mean paper in Turabian, I tell ya. And I can hold my own with the chauvinist pastor crowd. I know without a shadow of a doubt that I am called to ministry, and that the Spirit works through me -- and in spite of me -- on a regular basis.

But the crowning jewel of my adult life, outside of a man I deeply love, are the two lovely young women we have raised to think, speak and reason for themselves. I am incredibly proud of them. And incredibly lonely without them around.

When the first one went away to college, I cried. I missed her. I would go in her room and hug her pillow and weep.  Her sister was sad. Her dad was quiet and introspective. The cats missed her, too. (I don't think the goldfish gave a damn... but you never know.) Every time she was home, things were great. She was off with her friends, less in the house with us. But she was happy. So we were happy.

Our older daughter moved to her apartment for her new job, and I sobbed like I did that freshman year. Then our "baby" went to college for her freshman year, and I felt like someone had pulled my heart out through my nose. I could not stop crying as I drove home. (Not exactly the safest way to drive -- and yes, I did pull over in a parking lot and cry... then snuffle back on the highway.)

Quite frankly, the last month has been hell.

My husband is struggling, but he has always been very matter-of-fact and principled with his emotions. While I have learned not to splat my heart all over everyone around me, I do feel things very deeply and I had to struggle with saying good-bye without (too much) blubbering. (Yes, in Myers-Briggs, he is a "T" and I am an "F".) Quite honestly, I warned my daughters, "I know I'm going to cry" -- and I did. But I tried not to have the shoulder-heaving, gut-wrenching sobs... just the river of tears on my face. And a red nose and red eyes.

In short, I think this article was written as a bit of self-justifying pablum. And I have not found it to be true. It wasn't true with daughter #1, and it isn't true with daughter #2, 5 years later.

But here's what I am learning in the short month (3.5 weeks if you must know) that I've gone through this for the second time.

• It's OK to grieve. Really. You love these kids. If their leaving doesn't effect you emotionally, then there's problems.
• It's OK to have a hard time dealing with the mundane and the simple tasks that never bothered you before. You will be distracted. Your sleep will be interrupted. Be thoughtful and careful about things -- really and truly, pay attention to things like pumping gas or putting your purse in the car.
• It is more than OK to find someone else who is also struggling (like another mom) and check in with each other every day or so. Don't be maudlin. But do be honest.
• And it's OK to let your eyes well up with tears when some (well-meaning) person asks you, "do you miss your girls?" And say, "Yes, yes I do." Then I learn who understands and will give me a hug, and who is a cold rock. In other words, I don't expect everyone to understand. And I avoid the ones who have been the most shaming or condescending because frankly, I don't need their shit.

I'm plugging away here. Studying, preaching, reading, greeting, writing, and coming home to the household stuff. But I really do miss my kids.

And yes, I still have tears well up for no reason. At all. Like now. Dammit.

Ticket, please

For the last three weeks, we have been in a flurry of activity. I am (quite honestly) exhausted. We went on a family vacation. We set up one child in her first apartment. We took another child to her freshman year of college. The last couple of days, I have been cleaning the house and trying to remember how to cook for two. I call home to talk to one of the girls and ask them to take out dinner from the freezer and stick it in the oven... and they aren't there. And then I remember. Ooops. I finished the last load of laundry for the four of us, clothes that they didn't take with them, and now there's just laundry for the two of us. The dishwasher has barely had enough dishes in it to wash. 

This is life as "empty nesters" -- with the chicks just out of the nest. It's disorienting.

I now sit at my computer, wondering what in the hell I will do with my life. I mean, with the part of life that isn't my job (a pastor). I wonder if I want to be married any more. I wonder if I only did my job and life to just be a mom. I wonder how to be a friend. I don't know how my kids are sleeping tonight. I'm not around to know if they are still up, chatting on their computers, listening to music, or reading. I can't hug them good night. Or good morning.

I worry that they aren't adjusting. That they are unhappy. That they have second-thoughts. I wonder if the new job is going well, if the new college life is OK. I hope that both are in safe and caring relationships. I worry about their safety at night. And most of all, I worry that our daughters are going to struggle, suffer and go through heartache that I've been praying against since they were born.

Tonight I walked into each of their half-empty rooms. There are items on the walls, on the floor, in the dressers. There are piles of things to be picked up and put away. The rooms still smell like them - whiffs of shampoo, a slight perfume, a scented candle. The smells are fading fast. I can hardly catch them except when a room wind current changes and concentrates the scents.

I picked up a sweatshirt from the floor, hugged it to my chest and bawled like a baby. I cried for all of the years that I have worked and played with their lives at the center of my husband's and mine. I cried for the missed opportunities. I cried for my mistakes. I cried, most of all, for the fact that I can't get those years back... 

I can move forward, however. I can choose to be a better parent of young adults than I ever was in the baby/toddler/preschool/school/teen years. I can pray for them more consistently and cherish them when they choose to be at home.

My husband does not have the same emotional upheaval that I do. But then, I was the one to miss work to take them to the doctor or stay home when they were sick. The rare Sunday he could not cover childcare, I would pay a sitter, race to church and do my pastor thang, and then race home to finish the poop/puke/fever duty.

God called me to marriage, parenthood and the pastorate. And, God knows, I will be doing the same tomorrow.

This grief that parents feel, especially mothers, is not new to me. I know that. I prepared for it, pre-grieved it, and cried all the way home from college drop-off. 

I've punched my ticket on so many parenting milestones that I earned my frequent mama miles. You name it, I've done it. Nursing. Diapers. Preschool. Birthday parties. Music lessons. Martial arts. School field trips. Church youth group. Sunday school. PTA. Room mommy. Band parent. Drama parent. College interview trips. 

TICKET PLEASE.

Punch. Punch. Punch. Punch. 

I feel clueless. What's the next ticket for? Where does it go? For how long? What's the itinerary? I no longer have the school year calendar to define my days off. I don't know what is going on with school/college/grad school, unless they choose to tell me.

I feel like an Israelite, wandering in the desert, picking up manna and whining that I miss leeks and onions. I know better. This is a good place to be and I am not alone.

God walks before me. God shows me the way. There is no question but that I have a God who infinitely, unconditionally loves my husband and children more than I ever will.

My ticket is in my hand. Where are we going now, Lord?