Just to Hear You Breathing

So many romance movies and songs have lines about being brought to a complete standstill by the other's very existence. The first one that comes to mind is, "I could stay awake just to hear you breathing... I don't want to close my eyes, I don't want to fall asleep, 'cause I'd miss you baby, and I don't want to miss a thing." Those lyrics sometimes cross my mind as I roll over to notice Danilo, who almost always falls asleep before I do, gone til morning. I give him a hard time sometimes, how can you close your eyes? Don't you want to stay awake just to hear me breathing? But to be fair, I can't say that I've ever stayed awake just to hear him breathing, either. I figure I'll catch him in the morning.

The more movies and television series I have seen, the more I have realized how dramatized most of them are. By dramatized, I mean taking real life and amplifying it. I mean, Dr. Quinn experiences more in one episode than most people experience in their whole lives. It used to stress me out... how is she handling all this week to week, the diptheria outbreaks, her children being kidnapped, mines collapsing, going to jail for helping the Indians, being held hostage, and stay sane? Drama makes things more interesting. If she didn't face some major obstacle every episode, I probably wouldn't have been so driven to watch it clear through to the end. And you know what? I bet Sully would stay awake just to hear Michaela breathing.

I'm probably not alone in having watched movies and fantasized what it would be like to live a more dramatized life. But while real life can't provide what movies can by way of soundtracks and the resolution of all problems in a couple of hours, on the flip side movies cannot provide some of the things real life does.

The other day I was putting things away around the house when I stopped in Grace's room and I could see Danilo out the window working. We've both wanted a vegetable garden. I had done some research and even went to a class in preparation for the whole project, but got a little overwhelmed by all the details and was okay if we put it off til next year.  He took the process of setting up the garden off my shoulders and set to work doing it all by himself. I stood there in Grace's room and I watched him. I was thankful to be married to such a hard worker. I enjoyed watching all the faces he makes while he is doing something hard. My heart was full and happy in the fact that he and I share a life together, and a backyard and children. I realized I'd just had one of those moments. I had been standing there for 30 or 45 seconds just in awe of his existence. No, I wasn't staying awake just to hear him breathing, and while I am grateful that he breathes, this was deeper, this was more satisfying. I had the opportunity to realize that my love for him has grown more real and more true, and to appreciate some of the things I love most about him.

He is loyal. He is hardworking. He is good. He has nice muscles. And he is real.

Postpartum

"I can throw this away for you if you like," said the Walgreen's pharmacy tech. He was holding my empty bottle of Motrin in his hand. I'd taken one a day from that bottle since Danny was born. He was done using the label on the old bottle to fill my new prescription.

Little did he know the battle that was waging inside of me.

"Yes, that'll be great," I said, confidently. I had won again. I tried not to look too triumphant as I heard the bottle clunk in the trash underneath the counter.

When my babies are born, I have a borderline obsession with objects that were part of those first few days and weeks of life with them. Not just the first outfit they wore home from the hospital, but the plastic from their first package of diapers, or the mug they send home with me from my hospital stay. I don't know what my reasoning is. Something along the lines of being able to preserve their tenderness and innocence through clutter. I know I struggled with this when Grace was born and that if left unchecked it could hinder my progress in getting to and keeping a healthy state of mind as a new mom, so when we got home from the hospital this time, I took a garbage sack through the house at least once daily and threw away stuff. If it hurt to throw something away, I tried to step out of my emotions and look at it objectively. How happy are you going to be in three years that you saved the styrofoam cup you chewed ice chips from as you waited for labor to progress? If I couldn't provide a rational answer, it went in the garbage. I will admit, I hung on to the disposable cover to Danny's bilirubin bed for three days before it went in the trash. He'd punched out that cute hole with his arm! Some things must be allowed a little more time. :)

This is one facet of my personal experience with postpartum depression. I wondered to what extent I would experience it after Danny was born. I am thankful that it has been fairly mild this go round. It's interesting though, this experience at Walgreen's happened 45 minutes ago. I have step back and laugh a little that I really do have to think that hard about throwing away an empty prescription bottle. The fact that it's a decision at all tells me it's still lingering a little, but the way I win a little "battle" each day makes me so thankful that I am doing so well.

Here are some other facets to my whole postpartum experience.

I love my hospital experience. I am especially emotional after giving birth, and it makes me especially appreciative of the care that is shown to me by the nurses. It actually makes it really hard for me to go home. Not that I don't think I will be taken care of at home, but I become attached to my nurses. This time one of the nurses slid an envelope into the paperwork I was bringing home the evening we checked out. When I got home I opened it to find a card signed by all the nurses that had cared for me. It made me cry. Now it makes me smile. It did not go in the garbage.

For several days after giving birth, I have a heightened sense of how fragile mortality is. Danilo turned on Tarzan one night at home shortly after Grace was born, and I didn't tell him, but I got so upset inside and couldn't enjoy the rest movie when Tarzan's parents were killed by the cheetah in the beginning. I can (kind of) laugh at it now (having just experienced becoming a mother again), but I was truly, truly angry. 

The hardest part of the postpartum experience for me is an intense fear or anxiety that settles in and nearly paralyzes me. Fear of all kinds of things. Parent-killing cheetahs, Danilo making it safely home from work, and mostly over the responsibility of being a parent. Will I be able to do this as well as my parents did? I feel so broken and inadequate. This little person depends on me for everything. Will I be able to rise to the task and give them everything they need? I was comfortable with life before the baby and now I feel like my whole world has been thrown up in the air and come down scrambled. Will I ever experience normalcy again?

The night we brought Danny home from the hospital, he cried all night long. I wanted Danilo to sleep so we could have at least one alert parent the next day, so I made a bed on the floor in his room and tried to calm him from sun down to sun up. As I lay there, I had a wave of anxiety rush over me all night long. It was kind of uncomfortable and scary, but I just kind of let it do its thing.

Because this time I can say, hey, I have a three-year-old now and I felt this way when she was born too, but now she is mine and her daddy's whole world. It took several nights to figure out and adjust to life with her, but now it's impossible to imagine life without her.

Something else that has helped make my postpartum experience easier this time round is having Grace here with me. At a time when my emotions could cause me to take life and myself and this whole experience too seriously, Gracie provides comic relief. She laughs when he burps. She laughs when he spits up. She laughs when he goes cross-eyed. She laughs when he chooses to relieve himself when his diaper is off. It's a truly amused laugh. And it makes me laugh too. And while I laugh, I'm thankful that I'm not all by myself taking life too seriously.

Lastly, I taught a lesson a couple of months ago to the young women at church on the topic of grace. It changed my life. I have come to understand that after all we can do, God will bless us with a strengthening power (grace) that will make the seemingly difficult or impossible possible. So when postpartum panic starts to set in, I just remember my testimony of His grace and move forward. Sometimes the manifestations of His grace have been through my own daughter Grace, sometimes a text message from a friend, a priesthood blessing, or a clearer understanding of what I'm going through. These verses were part of my scripture study this morning and I loved them:

This I recall to my mind, therefore I have hope.
It is of the Lord's mercies that we are not consumed, because his compassions fail not.
They are new every morning: great is thy faithfulness.
The Lord is my portion, saith my soul; therefore will I hope in him.
Lamentations 3:21-24

Surely I am not the only one who has become attached to an empty package of newborn sized Pampers. If you have fun postpartum experiences too, I would love to hear about them. :)  

feeling good

Five Mini-Posts

Oh blog, it's good to be here again. I have missed you! It's just that I've felt terribly lousy for so long. One day I was trying to remember the last time I felt good, and it had been since Halloween. It's okay, I firmly believe that baby boy is worth it. Thankfully, I have actually started to feel better in the last two or three weeks and enjoy a little of what's left of this pregnancy.

So I thought I would stop in and write some mini-posts about the things I would have blogged about had I been feeling better.

Mini Post #1

Danilo and Brittney Finish the Dr. Quinn Series

It's no secret that I was completely enthralled with Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman. Secretly inside I feared the day that we would finish the last episode because it would be OVER. Fortunately our set of six seasons also included the Dr. Quinn movies. We actually watched the last one last night.

(Michaela sifting through her mother's belongings after her funeral in Boston before they return to Colorado Springs.)

Michaela: Photographs. They're not just things, are they?

Sully: No. I agree. They're pieces of a person's soul. Somethin' to be treasured forever.

Michaela: (tears falling down her face) Sully, there is a forever, isn't there?

Sully: Oh yeah. We're all going to be together again.

Michaela: Promise?

(Kiss.)

Sully: I promise. 

(From The Heart Within, A Dr. Quinn: Medicine Woman movie)

I have this dream that somewhere, maybe in Heaven, our favorite characters from books and movies exist just as we envision them. If I ever find it, be sure that Danilo and I will be spending some quality time with Michaela and Sully.

Mini Post #2

I Heart YouTube Prenatal Workouts

I have found some very enjoyable and effective prenatal workouts on YouTube. My favorite thing about them is that the instructors say things like:

"Now don't push yourself too hard."

"Listen carefully to your body. You don't have to take this to the next level."

"You're doing great. I'm so proud of you for getting up and doing this today."

I feel like a million bucks when I'm done. Here are my favorites.

and my absolute favorite,

Prenatal Pilates with the darling Lizbeth Garcia

Mini Post #3

Kitchen Curtains, Check!

I found several pictures on Pinterest of curtains I wanted for my kitchen and with a lot of help from my Mom, we were able to whip them up in two afternoons. We had fun. I sure appreciated it. Here is the finished product:

The side of my fridge looks terribly unflattering.
Oh, well. It's not like this is a catalog. :)

Mini Post #4

Brittney Discovers Dress Barn

I'd driven past Dress Barn before and thought it sounded like a place Old MacDonald's wife would shop. I'd just never been tempted to go in. Until I attended a vintage dress fashion show put on by Sharon Hill from the neighborhood where I grew up. Sharon was modeling a whole collection of her mother's gorgeous dresses from the 1940s and the whole event was being hosted by Dress Barn. Between Sharon's dress changes, other ladies would model dresses from Dress Barn. And they were so flattering and pretty. They were also affordable. I added to my closet some dresses I absolutely LOVE. I would recommend checking out your local Dress Barn if you never have.

Attempt #49 to get a flattering picture while 7 1/2 months pregnant :)

Mini Post #5
Park City

I told Danilo a couple of months ago that before the baby came I dreamed of a getaway for the three of us that would give me just a two day escape from making beds, cooking, or doing dishes. So Danilo booked a Best Western in Park City with a swimming pool and made my dream come true.

We were on a Les Mis kick at our house for a whole month

after this

and this

my brother Andrew (top center) after a Friday night performance of Les Miserables at his high school

Danilo may have walked around the house singing things like, "And now I'm off to brush my teeeeeth"...to the tune of I Dreamed a Dream.

I get so swallowed up not only in the music of Les Miserables, but in the story. Of the worth of the human soul in God's eyes that is displayed in so many of the characters and hope amidst complete and utter despair. It is a story so masterfully told and it changes my life in some way every time I see it.

“Is there not in every human soul [as in Jean val Jean] a primitive spark, a divine element, incorruptible in this world and immortal in the next, which can be developed by goodness, kindled, lit up, and made to radiate, and which evil can never entirely extinguish?”

-Victor Hugo

The whole experience may have rubbed off a little on Gracie, too.

Farewell to a Good Girl

I will always have my dad to thank for bringing us together my junior year of high school.

It all started with trips to and from school everyday.

A couple of times you helped me drop packages on boys' doorsteps asking them to school dances.

We stayed out of trouble on the weekends having lots of fun.


There are moments that I have shared with you and no one else.

We got to go to college together and I remember driving on campus the first day, nervous but excited.

You came with me when I went to tell that boy that it really was all over, and you were waiting for me when I came out.

And you were there the night I pulled over in rainstorm, certain that no one else could hear, and screamed at the top of my lungs in utter desperation to have my life as I knew it back during a particularly difficult battle with depression.

My relationship with God grew as we took early morning trips to the Bountiful temple and I would ponder my relationship with Him on the way home.

You were there the first time Danilo kissed me (the first time in my life I truly saw fireworks).

You overheard our conversations as we discussed what kind of future we wanted to have together.

My getting married didn't change anything between us.

While Danilo* wasn't sold at first, it didn't take long for him to appreciate you as much as I did.

We went to internships and job interviews

and together to my first day teaching school.

A couple of years later when Gracie joined us, you were familiar to her too.

We never went to the grocery store or story time without you. 


You lived with us everywhere we lived, your accommodations were better at some places than others.

Last Saturday you drove away.

Happily I know it's to a good home.

He might not listen to country music or enjoy Josh Groban

but he goes to the same high school I did,

so in some ways you're going right back to where we started.

You were loyal and true and will always occupy a special place in my heart.

I will always feel a certain camaraderie with anybody who drives by in a Geo Prizm

because we most likely have a similar appreciation for what a dang good car they are.  

Thanks for the memories sweetheart.

I love you.

(Sorry so sappy. I really care about this car.)

*Danilo had a harder time letting the Geo go than I did. "Can't we just keep it?" He is proud when he tells people that changing the clutch was the only major repair we made on her in the 6 1/2 years we've been married.

5th Saturday of Seven

There once was a campaign run on the idea of free handouts. It was mine. For my speech at the campaign assembly, I shared several reasons why you should vote for me which all related back to candy bars, and then the candy was tossed into the crowd ("your vote for me will make this the best school in the Milky Way!"). And while I had a few reasons for running, like being a positive example to my peers and being involved in school events, one in particular was very appealing: the Longhorn sweater with my name on it.

You may laugh at my bangs for three seconds. Okay. That's enough.

Yes, we were the orange and black Longhorns. At night during campaign season as I lie in bed, I would envision wearing the sweater on game days and assembly days, sometimes as a jacket, sometimes around my waist, sometimes out in public so people would see me and say, "She must be a class officer at her school." Kind of shallow, I know.

I was reading 1 Kings in the Bible a few months ago and found a verse that describes a truer and nobler form of leadership. Rehoboam has just replaced his father Solomon as king and seeks counsel from the elders as to how to run the kingdom. This was their answer:

...be a servant unto this people this day...
1 Kings 12:7

Unfortunately, Rehoboam didn't like that answer. Instead he counseled with his friends, who suggested he impose greater burdens on the people. Sadly, to his detriment and the kingdom's, he followed the advice of the young men.  "Whereas my father did lade you with a heavy yoke, I will add to your yoke: my father hath chastised you with whips, but I will chastise you with scorpions."

Fortunately in the United States of America, we have a choice.
   

It is my belief that Mitt Romney is not running for president to serve his personal interest.

 I really believe that. I believe that he is a man of good character. My last two posts have discussed why I think he's qualified for the job and this one will discuss why I think we have an extraordinary choice before us: a man who will use his qualifications for the right reason, which is to serve the people of the United States of America.

Serving others is part of who Mitt Romney is. His record indicates that. I have made it clear that I am not voting for Mitt Romney because he is a Mormon. But because he and I have that in common, it does give me an interesting perspective.

Mitt Romney served as a Mormon missionary. I am not familiar with the particular details of Mitt Romney's mission other than that he served in France, but my dad and my husband served missions (Australia and Orlando, Florida), and my sister-in-law just left to serve in Guatemala this very week.

Hugging her sister goodbye as my sister-in-law embarks on her 18 month mission

Here's what I can tell you about missionaries. They leave their home sometime in their late teens to early twenties to serve the Lord and the people of the area to which they are called. They are gone for 18 months (women) to two years (men). They put college and career plans on hold. They pay their own way. If they serve for the right reasons, they come back better, more selfless people having had an experience that will positively influence the rest of their lives. How could it not? I am going to assume that Mitt Romney's case was no different.  

Mitt Romney, like active members of his faith, also served the children, youth and adults of his congregation. He later served as a stake president, as did my grandfather. As a granddaughter I witnessed the magnitude of responsibility associated with that particular calling. Here is a Wikipedia summary of Mitt Romney's leadership roles in the Mormon faith:

From 1986 to 1994, Romney presided over the Boston Stake, which included more than a dozen wards in eastern Massachusetts with almost 4,000 church members altogether. An unpaid position, his local church leadership often took 30 or more hours a week of his time, and he became known for his considerable energy in the role,
 

A number of local church members later credited him with turning their lives around or helping them through difficult times. Romney later said that the years spent as an LDS minister gave him direct exposure to people struggling financially and empathy for those with family problems.

  [Wikipedia, "Mitt Romney: Local LDS Leadership", abridged]

Examples of church service have dominated this blog post because of my Mormon perspective, but Mitt Romney's desire to serve extends beyond his faith. Of his decision to run the Olympic Games of 2002, Mitt Romney said, "Ann and I felt it was the right thing to do....It was the spirit of public service that attracted me." When the Olympics were over, he donated the severance pay he earned for his work to charity.

This well-written blog post has a compilation of other good works done by Mitt Romney. I love author's last paragraph: "You may choose to dislike Romney’s politics, his policies, his ham-handed speeches. But what a better country we would have if half the people attacking him now could compile half of the list above."

One thing that strikes me about these stories being told is that Mitt Romney is not telling them himself. Other people are telling them for him. That tells me he did these acts of service not for recognition, but because it was the right thing to do. Personally, it all makes me want to be a better person, a sentiment I'm not used to feeling when dealing in politics. What a quality for a president to possess.

Is it time to vote YET?!

Unlike King Rehoboam from the Bible, I believe if Mitt Romney is elected the next president of our country, he would view himself as "a servant unto [the] people." Unlike the people of King Rehoboam's kingdom, we as the American people have the choice in whom we will vote for. Use it wisely.

Taking part in a nobler campaign than the one I ran in 1998.

I will continue to post a reason I am voting for Mitt Romney each Saturday until the election. If you don't agree with me, that's okay. I've actually had some really good conversations with people through the course of this project whose opinions differ from mine but who I respect immensely.

However, if you feel like it's the right thing to do, please help me extend my reach by sharing these posts through email, Facebook and Pinterest. Thank you!

P.S. There is a presidential debate this Monday. Watch it. More information here. 

P.S.#2. This video is worth your time.

Boston News, Weather, Sports | FOX 25 | MyFoxBoston

A Sad Story

One week ago we brought home some Annabelle hydrangea bushes from the nursery. They really, truly looked like this. They were gorgeous. Our plan was to have some mulch delivered the following day and go to work planting. Knowing we had a wedding in a couple of days, I decided to postpone the planting one week.

About three days ago, all the beautiful blossoms started to wilt and the leaves too and got worse day after day. It made me ill to look at them. It makes me sad and embarrassed that something so gorgeous went so downhill under my care.

We got them in the ground as promised yesterday, mulch and Miracle-Gro and all, and I am literally praying for them. I have shed tears over these hydrangeas (Danilo's just happy it's not over something he did :). I have heard that plants in distress will do better if you lop off their blossoms so the energy can go to saving the plant. The man at the nursery said over the phone he agreed and that he's fairly confident I can bring them back. So I chopped off all the once-popcorn-ball-sized-now-wilting-near-dead blossoms with a pair of scissors and I'm reporting it here so you can hopefully share in my joy when they bloom again.

OUCH

(There are four of them total.)


Thanks for listening.

On a happier note, look at our lovely lawn!! I am so proud of Danilo!

I would really love to thank the police officer who may have altered the course of my husband's life a couple of decades ago

Danilo's mom told me this story a few Sundays ago. It's a little gem. Just when I thought I knew all there was to know about Danilo Collado. 

I'll do my best, a few things always get lost in translation, but as I understood it, when Danilo was 13 and living in Miami, he decided he was going to join a gang. The boys who were going to let him join told him he had to steal something from the store. 

Petrified, Danilo went in and grabbed the easiest thing he could find, a little Hot Wheels car. He'd caught a clerk's eye who followed him out the door and apprehended him. I'm not sure when the officer arrived on the scene, but this was the critical part. The officer had the opportunity to give Danilo a mild talking to and send him on his way. What difference would it make to haul this kid to the police station? Would it be worth the time and effort?

It made a huge difference.

The officer measured an appropriate amount of justice on my husband. He did take him to the police station. He probably received a good talking to. He instructed Danilo to call his mom and ask her to come get him.

Danilo started to cry. His mom was pregnant. She worked hard, and they didn't have a lot of money. This was going to make her sad. The thought was painful to Danilo.

My mother-in-law said she didn't stay long at the station once she arrived to pick up her son. She said there was an understanding between her and the officer that her having to come down and pick him up and knowing it would disappoint her was punishment enough. 

He didn't get into the gang. And he never tried again. It's a cute story, but I shudder to think where Danilo could be today if the officer had let him get away with it with no more than a slap on the hand.  If the 13-year-old son of a soon to be single mom living in Miami had ended up joining the gang, or even just learned that illegal activity only equals a slap on the hand.

Would his future have turned out the same? I can't say for sure. I decided awhile ago not to worry about what-ifs. Because this is what we have, and I'm so thankful.

Nephi, Blogging, and a Bout with Depression

If you haven't ever met Nephi, I am thrilled that I get the chance to introduce you. Nephi is the first prophet whose story is told in the Book of Mormon, and he is physically and morally strong. He is the youngest of his brothers, but because the oldest two are hard-hearted and generally choose wickedness over what is right, the Lord chooses Nephi to be a ruler over them. The two books of Nephi are filled with stories of Nephi doing one noble and courageous thing after another... and I'm going to tell you about one of them.

Nephi has traveled several days into the wilderness with his family when his father tells him that the Lord has commanded Nephi to return to Jerusalem with his brothers to retrieve the brass plates from Laban. The brass plates contain the records of their ancestors. Nephi's answer is firm and resolute... he will go. After a few attempts at visiting Laban, it becomes very clear that Laban intends to kill Nephi and his brothers and to never hand over the brass plates. On what becomes his final attempt, Nephi approaches Laban's home and finds Laban drunk and collapsed on the ground. The Spirit constrains Nephi to kill Laban, and when Nephi hesitates, he is instructed that "it is better that one man should perish than that an entire nation should dwindle and perish in unbelief..." without the record. Nephi kills Laban, retrieves the plates and grants Laban's servant his freedom if he will join them on their journey to the promised land.

Nephi is righteous and firm and unwavering and inspiring. And as our Sunday School teacher pointed out last Sunday, he is also human, and he grants us a glimpse of that from time to time. The first time the brothers attempted to get the plates from Laban, they cast lots to see which one would go and make the request. The lot fell on Laman, the oldest. He leaves on the errand but returns empty-handed and tells his brothers that he had to flee because Laban threatened to kill him. And then the scriptures say, "...and we began to be exceedingly sorrowful." Reading between the lines, I see a young man trying to do his best. He has just completed a journey of several days through the wilderness back to Jerusalem with a couple of his brothers most likely murmuring most of the way. And when they try to do what they have been sent to do, their lives are threatened. I think for a time Nephi was at a loss for what to do, and I am so thankful he wrote that he was exceedingly sorrowful about it.
Because I want to be like Nephi. And there are times in my life when I am temporarily at a loss for what to do, and during those times I don't feel like I'm being like Nephi... until I saw this side of him. The important thing is to know the end of the story. We know that after his period of sorrow, however long or short it was, he rose to the occasion and with the help of the Lord accomplished with his brothers what they set out to do (read the whole story here).

Every so often I hear debates going on about the "best" way to blog, especially as women. I've read women wishing other women would be more honest and not present their life in such a picture-perfect light on their blog (have you seen this? It's written by a guy in his twenties to poke fun at mommy blogs, and it's stinking hysterical). I've also read the other end of the debate where people have discussed how it's possible to be too honest and share too many complaints regarding how unfairly life is treating you with whoever out there might be listening. I think there's value in both ends of the spectrum. When I see a picture of a beautifully decorated mantel or a spotless kitchen, it inspires me to make my home a more beautiful place. I am guilty of arranging things in a way so that I wouldn't be embarrassed to post a picture of it on the internet. On the other hand, I have been grateful when friends have opened up about a truly horrendous day at their house and how it made them feel, because it makes it easier for me to not take myself too seriously when I am dealing with a similar situation at a later time. What it all comes down to is that if you are blogging regularly, it must be satisfying, and you can blog about whatever you want to, whether you're at either extreme of the spectrum or somewhere in the middle.

I think Nephi (not a blogger, but still a writer) fell somewhere in the middle. He desired to record the events that showed how good the Lord had been to him and his family in the good times and the bad. He is always uplifting and inpsiring and encouraging. But sometimes he opens up and is extremely honest about how certain situations made him feel when appropriate, and that's when you read language like, "O wretched man that I am! Yea, my heart sorroweth because of my flesh...I am encompassed about, because of the temptations and the sins which do so easily beset me" (2 Nephi 4:17-18).

I'd like to fall somewhere in the middle too. When I post something, I feel like I've made a small contribution to the world, and I want to make sure it's positive... so I try to share the very best of me. Somedays the best of me might include how I am coping with the worst of what is going on.

So I think that's why I want to confess to you that I just emerged from an episode with depression. It was the strongest it has been since this point in my life. I'm not even quite sure what caused it. I think my emotions were very close to the surface after experiencing such a wonderful Christmas that it left me open and vulnerable to an emotional crash.  I hid it well. I even had to confess to Danilo that it had happened tonight before I posted this for anyone else to read. I started to recognize it for what it was one night when I realized how excited I was to go to sleep because it would be a temporary escape from reality. If you have never felt the pangs of depression, I expect a statement like that to sound ludicrous to you. After all, I have a loving husband, and a precious daughter, a warm home and food to eat. I truly hope you never know why. Don't be alarmed though. I am armed with tricks and techniques to combat it that I didn't have the first time depression came knocking at my door. While I'm never excited when it rears its ugly head, I am thankful each time it has happened because I become more familiar with what it is and how to better cope the next time. There is a book called Living With a Black Dog: His Name is Depression that I found a lot of comfort in reading during the last stages of my first bout with depression. Anyway, the last page of the book has a picture of the man embracing the black dog. While it can be fearsome and horrific, I too have learned to love what my black dog has done for me in teaching me humility and compassion and a mountain of other lessons I treasure, as well as strengthening my relationship with God and His Son, Jesus Christ.

As I came out of my first episode with depression, which had lasted nine months, I emerged with a passion to extend hope to anyone who found themselves in that condition. If you are there, I want to tell you that I have been where you are, and there is a way out. Even for you.