held

I went home last weekend. It was amazing. It was probably the best time I have ever had at home... which is huge considering I'm at a hard place in my life right. Going home during a hard time is down right ballsy. I'll say it... it was ballsy. To be experiencing heartache and pain and just down right tough stuff in life and then to go home... to the place where I used to numb out from the pain, the place where I used my eating disorder to get by, the place where I isolated from those who loved me because that's all I knew... that was down right ballsy. I had a choice as to how I was going to deal with that pain. I could go back to the comforts of home... the comforts of being numb and not feeling hurt by dealing with life the way I used to... or I could go back and experience a new life in the same old place... the life that I experience up here, in Chicago, a life of recovery...


... because after all, my recovery doesn't take up residence just here in Chicago, it takes up residence within me.


My mom picked me up from the airport around 6pm. My dad, grandma, and older sister had no clue I was coming. We had planned for it to be a surprise for the whole family, but my brother had to help my mom get me a plane ticket and my little sister has ways of getting the truth out of mom... consequences of being a Proverbs 31 woman... you can't lie... therefor you can't surprise.


My older sister had just had a baby two weeks before and kept asking when I was going to get to come home and see my new little nephew, Jackson. I would tell her I would try to as soon as I could, but between work and preparing to go to Africa and moving I probably wouldn't be able to make it down there until the middle of the summer... I have accepted the fact that I'm not a Proverbs 31 woman... and I'm OK with that... I can lie, therefor I can surprise.


When we got to the house the rest of the fam had already sat down to dinner. Mom went in to join them and I snuck around back. I came in through the laundry room really quiet, tip toed through the kitchen, and just as they were all raising their glasses about to give a family toast, I walked in as if I had been there all along and said "hey, where's mine?"


My sister screamed and jumped out of her chair, my dad's eyes popped like corn and he dropped his jaw on the floor, and my grandma... "mommom" we call her... I'm pretty sure she stopped breathing for a second. I forgot we have to be careful about surprises with mommom's heart... definitely didn't want it to stop on account of me.


We all exchanged hugs, smiles, and laughs and then sat down to dinner... I was finally home... and this time... it felt good. For a moment, life's hardships disappeared and I enjoyed a really nice dinner with my entire family.


The next few days were amazing as well... I spent time with my mom, time at the beach, time with my sisters, my brother, and little nephew, time with old friends, and time with new ones...


One of the new friends I met was Justin, the father of my sister's baby. I say that very proud... her baby daddy! I realize to the church and even to some of our distant relatives that's not a proud statement to make... "baby daddy" seeing as how that is his title instead of "husband," but if people could learn to look beyond titles and beyond brokenness that lies within each one of us, they would see neither a baby daddy nor a potential husband. They would see a man named Justin, who loves his son just as much as any legally binding husband loves his own child.


I got to hold my nephew the longest since my stay was limited. I pulled the "I'm going back to Chicago and won't see him" card, and that made who ever was holding him fork him right over. It worked like a charm.


My mom and I took a bike ride through quite a bit of Pawleys Island, stopping along the way to pick up souvenirs from little mom and pop beach shops. I never thought I would buy a souvenir from Pawleys Island, but part of me wanted to take a piece of home back home with me. I wanted a memory not only of Pawleys Island, but of that specific trip, maybe even of that specific bike ride with my mom.


I went to visit my brother at work and enjoyed some coffee, along with some amazing southern pastries... ones that I at one point in my life thought I would never be able to enjoy.


Betsy, my younger sister, and I spend most of our time quoting movies... a favorite past time of mine. The most recent one we had seen was Father of the Bride with Steve Martin... it is one of a select few family favorites. She had recently watched the sequel where as I had seen the first one, so the timing of my trip worked out perfectly for quoting movies. "Don't bulldoze my memories, man," she would repeat over and over, just like Steve Martin who begged the guy he sold his house to not to tear it down. We laughed. Sitting here now, looking back on the time I spent with my family, I can sympathize with George Stanley Banks (Martin)... "Don't bulldoze my memories, man."


My favorite memory was a hurtful, yet beautiful one. Hurtful because I allowed myself to feel the hurt I had inside, but beautiful because of who I got to share it with.


We were all up watching TV one night and my dad said he was going to go read for a while and get ready for bed. I sat with everyone else in the living room watching TV but I kept thinking about how I wanted to go talk to my dad. I debated whether I should or not, but instead of thinking about it too hard I got up, went into his room, and sat at the end of his bed. I sat there very quiet. He smiled and asked how my visit was going. I said it was going really well and that I was really enjoying my time with the family... and then I sat there silent, and just looked down. He sat in silence with me. I think he knew I wanted to tell him something, but he was waiting until I was ready to say it. He wasn't trying to avoid the silence or repeatedly ask me what was wrong... he just waited.

Finally I looked at him... I tried hard not to tear up, but I failed miserably... "This may sound weird, but I was wondering if... well... you see, I cry myself to sleep a lot... and I'm always alone when I cry... and part of what I have really been looking forward to about coming home is you just holding me while I cry... I was wondering if..." and before I could even finish he stretched his arms out, pulled me close and said "Ohhhhh Darlin'... that's not weird at all... not even close!" And he just held me... and I just cried. I buried my head in my dad's chest and I just cried.

It really hurt to feel what I was feeling, but at the same time I felt so at peace because of where I was in that exact moment... I was exactly where I wanted to be... in my dad's arms. It made the hurt seem not so hard, the pain not so bad, and the loneliness completely non-existent. In a way, it kinda made me appreciate the pain, because that pain is exactly what lead me to curl up and rest in my dad's arms.

I could get all spiritual and relate all this to God and how He is our father and longs to hold us when we are hurting, and I do believe that to be true, but it does not minimize how much it means to me to have my earthly father just hold me and tell me how much he loves me.


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the dad... my dad


















the neph... my neph


















the fam... my fam!