When you wish upon a star…

 Bunny and I are in an airport waiting to fly back from our weekend at Disney after a weeklong family vacation in Florida. The two of us stayed on property and went to all four main parks, hitting many of the “you have to’s” along the way. But it was also us - and so our days often started after 9am and our evenings were capped with some bedtime HGTV. 

I’m not actually a Disney person - but the whole time she was away I wanted the two of us to have a trip that would help make up for the 18 months of separation and hardship, living with no frills or fun to pass the time. I spent 18 months imagining what it would be like to go on carefree adventures together. I wished on many a star and Disney seemed like a place to get a year’s worth of frills and fun. 

Disney delivered - and so did the family vacation. Time together - that was all we really needed. Lots and lots of time together. In just days Bunny will start her junior year of online school. She continues her court ordered counseling and is in a cool group of kids at the counseling center which she has enjoyed. We meet with her very nice probation officer once each month for about 5 minutes and her next court update isn’t until October. We really have no idea of when she might switch to “unsupervised probation” which would eliminate court dates and monthly probation visits - but it doesn’t really matter. She is doing everything they need her to do, so the visits are all positive. 

As a family, David continues graduate school for his NP and the boys start their senior year of HS, with both of them planning to attend USI upon graduation. I keep teaching in my job which is by far my favorite job of my entire life. My mom and dad (who live with us) continue to expand their Evansville lives but are still a daily part of each of the kids daily life in unique and individual ways. 

A year ago (July 19, 2020) I posted about a tense call with Bunny and how difficult it was to have tension long distance. Those moments made the 18 months seem to last forever and our distance seem twice as far. I dreamed of being able to handle life face to face with all its ups and downs. And now I’m posting photos with us in Mickey ears and giant smiles. 

We aren’t always on vacation or living our best Disney life - but I will never take for granted the fact that she is right here beside me. 

Even the winter won't last forever

 I'm typing this while looking out at my finches eating at their feeder, with a freshly mowed yard and all the bare trees in full bud or flowering or leafing out in the woods on our property. Spring is here. In the joy of new life, I feel like creation itself is joining in with our celebration of having her home. It's as if the daffodils had to burst up through the ground to see her with their own eyes. Like the birds who have huddled around the feeder all winter have a new song to sing with her here. Or maybe the grey scales have fallen from my eyes and with her home I have a new appreciation for the show God brings forth every spring. 

Her first week back was a whirlwind of activities (meeting with probation, securing enrollment in school, meeting with her new therapist, scheduling an appointment with the optometrist and buying clothes that actually fit her). For those wondering, the probation officer seems very easy to work with, her therapist is really nice and seems like a good fit and she will be doing online homeschooling through Indiana Connections Academy for the foreseeable future. We have a follow-up court date with the judge on June 2nd which should give us an idea of how long supervised probation will last. 

That weekend was "Bunny Christmas" complete with both sets of grandparents and the 5 of us sitting around a Christmas tree, opening presents and singing along to Christmas carols, while eating feast after feast of all our favorite foods. Now, two weeks after the hurricane of activity, I have a better sense of what it is to have her home.

First, she is exactly the same. Her love of fuzzies, her funny voices, her jokes and singing and dolphin-pitched squealing at her favorite things remains completely the same. She still loves to read, cook, binge watch Netflix with me (we are restarting Gilmore Girls!) and play with our dog Charlie. She has quickly learned the kitchen and cooks on the nights David works late to help me with the house. With the help of Beth Wilson, we outfitted her room and decorated so it truly feels like her space. Gretchen will be helping her paint later this month. She's already learned the amazing comfort of reading outside in the hammock swing and has tried the french toast at 4 different breakfast locations to determine her new favorite breakfast restaurant. 

She is also different than before. Not only has she aged a year (and grown super tall) - she has matured in ways I am still discovering. She is more confident in herself. She tells me more about what she actually feels or wants, rather than acting like everything is ok even if it isn't. She intentionally leaves her phone at home any time we go out together, to better engage with me when we are running errands. She says "I love you" to me multiple times a day - and often to her brothers as well. She comes out of her room to check what else is happening in the house, including going downstairs to visit with her grandparents. She's always willing to drop what she is doing if anyone else asks her to join in with a different activity. She compliments her brothers often. She asks me deep questions about my thoughts of fate and love and life perspective.

She doesn't ever want to talk about the past year, although she will have to do some of that with her therapist no matter what. She talks some about the future - but her focus is on the present. Like us, she is acutely aware of the year that she lost and doesn't want to take for granted anything we have now. 

The therapist asked me how things were at home - I said it was like a honeymoon stage, where we are all just so happy to be together, nothing bothers us. Now three weeks in, the intense feelings of hugging her every time she walks into a room are fading - but the joy is not. There are times it can feel like she never left - because everything finally feels whole again. And yet, she is not the child who left us January 8, 2020. 

Like David's deployments to Iraq, homecoming feels nearly like an escape from the past with no need to look behind us ever again. I expect that stories of her time away will slowly leak out, when it relates to something else happening or perhaps therapy draws out something she wants to talk about. Starting with the birth of the boys, half of our 17 years as a family have seen at least one member of the household gone for at least part the year. 2004 - 2008 David was in and out of South Korea and Iraq (twice). In 2019 Nathan and I moved to Evansville. January 2020 - March 2021 Bunny was gone. In our generation and in our country - for a family whose parents have been married the entire time, it's a lot of separation. I hope this marks the end of that trend. 

All 5 of us recognize that we have the gift of perspective - despite their teenage tendencies to sequester themselves in their rooms or be totally caught up in their own spheres of life -  all three kids are willing and eager to spend time together. I'm thankful for that everyday. I'm thankful for a lot of things. 

I will probably continue to write this blog, but I will only post to GroupMe if there is a significant update about Bunny. I've appreciated this platform as a way to help me process the thoughts that swirl in my head between the hours of 3:30 and 5:00am. I'm also so appreciative of every one who has prayed for and thought of and supported our family through this experience. Some of you were nearly daily encouragers and some prayed silently from afar. All of you were the glue to held us together after being shattered apart. Thank you. 

Audrey Assad - "Even the Winter"

What it we find ourselves beneath the snow? 

Our warmest words all frozen in our throats and all we feel is left out in the cold, you and I?

What it the days grow short and lose their light? What it the coals grow black and the embers die?

And we can't find each other in the night, you and I.

Even the winter won't last forever, we'll see the morning, we'll feel the sun.

We'll wake up in April, ready and able, holding the seeds in the soil of our love.

A letter

 Below is a copy of the letter I will give Ms Browning when we pick up Bunny tomorrow. 

Dear Ms Browning

I truly felt like my life shattered on January 8,2020.  Then, on March 16, Bunny called me sobbing in fear of what was to come when she went to LaPorte. Now, a year later, having not seen my daughter in 370 days, I sit in a room, a half mile down the road, waiting to pick her up in the morning. 

As a mom, you always hope the people who come into your child’s life are a positive influence. I never would have known that you would be such an influence in her most vulnerable stage of life so far. I prayed for the person who would oversee her care and my prayers were answered in you. 

While I will never understand all that led to these events, I do believe that God put you in her life to shape her into the woman she will become. In my loneliest moments without her, I knew she would be ok because you were there. I saw your kindness and compassion and will forever be thankful for your presence in her life. You have cared for her and been present when I could not be there. 

I know this was a year of illness and sorrow for you. I am so sorry for all you have lost. 

While you have cared for many girls at LaPorte, I will always think of you as “our” Ms Browning. 

Thank you for everything. 

David and Susan Ely 

Promises made, promises kept

 It’s been one day since her last phone call. 

Six days since her last face time. 

Seven days since her last court date. 

364 days since I last saw her face to face. 

399 days since she lived at our address. 

588 days since we shared an address.

Next Tuesday, I will wake up in my bed and go out into the hall and crack open the door that is across from my bedroom. I will see her form lying asleep. I’ll close the door softly and go to the kitchen to make my coffee. And it will be the first time I could do that in 594 days. 

But I made that choice. David and I together weighed all the costs of moving, which job to choose, when to sell the house, what plan would work best for the family. We talked to peers and mentors, realtors and pastors, family and friends and to the kids themselves. We wrestled and prayed and planned for months, trying to figure out the best plan for this next phase of life. And 588 days ago I moved out of my family house into an apartment with a promise that we would be together soon. 

595 days later, that promise will be kept. 

Honestly, I doubt there will ever be a time in my life when I feel at peace with these past 595 days and the decisions we made - or were forced to make - with everything that followed. There was no crystal ball or hand writing on the wall to foretell the course we set ourselves on. 

But just like the “wrongness” of life these past 1.5 years have amplified hurt and fear - I expect the “rightness” of being together again to amplify that same joy and hope we carried these long days and nights. 

Would I, if I could, do it differently? Well yes - that and a thousand other mistakes I’ve made. But as I see the new life of spring budding on our trees and hear the new song of the birds at our feeders - I know that this is not the last mistake I make - nor is it the last time for me to see grace and love shining like brilliant stars into the darkness of my own making. 

And the One who has kept every promise - who has given His presence - His comfort - His love - He will be there with us still, for all the mistakes I have yet to make. 

Beautiful space

 David and I saw Nomadland yesterday - in a word, it is beautiful. The scenery is beautiful. The soundtrack is beautiful. The community is beautiful. Even the pain is beautiful. This movie is not for everyone I'm sure - featuring a growing collection of houseless individuals, leaving society to live a nomad existence in vans, this movie simultaneously shows great grief and trauma and hurt experienced by these individuals, but with the highest levels of respect. Cast with people who actually live as nomads, this movie flows at a much different pace than typical media. There are wide open spaces, long static shots, lots of time of silence and stillness. It demonstrates the beauty of space.

Only 14 days away from Bunny being home, this movie felt like a prophetic piece of wisdom offered to David and I. As we ponder how Bunny will reintegrate into our home and family and life, this movie puts the very highest value of authenticity and community, displayed through presence and silence. The willingness to wait for someone to offer their story; the space to let people grieve; the time to let trauma fade.

It's hard for me. We live in a society ruled by calendars and alarms and alerts from our phones, where communication is watered down to 140 characters or captions on SnapChat - we live in a society that values productivity above all else. More and more (and not just because of the pandemic) people migrate to rooms with closed doors producing video streams, tik toks, podcasts and cultivating online personalities. We withdraw from individuals to engage with the anonymous masses of the internet. 

And I - I am type A - enneagram 1 - control addict. My schedules give me a feeling of control which in turn makes me feel safe. A fully checked off list at the end of a day gives me worth and value. A resume of what I have done - what I can do - ensures that I matter. While I actually think I am fairly good at listening to others and engaging authentically, it's often bound in my schedule - coffee with Jenn from 8:30am - 10:30am. Trip to Bloomington to visit with Beth - 11:00am - 3:00pm. Date with my hubby 5:00pm - 9:00pm. Nightly phone call with Bunny - 7:45pm - 8:05pm. These boundaries let me fully engage in that moment without any worry of losing momentum on my pursuit of productivity. 

But I cannot - and will not- force Bunny onto my schedule. She does not owe me a half hour to recount what she has learned. She does not need to be able to list 3 ways she has changed through this experience. She will not be given two weeks to process and then be expected to move on. Bunny does not need to make me more comfortable by healing in a way that moves with my timeline or expectations.

While it may not be true of all, the nomads from the movie shared a common life perspective that they had no desire to function in societal norms. The pace of the world - the demands of a typical schedule - were shackles they had cast off. Their grief could ebb and flow naturally - and if they needed time and space to be alone, it was there. They could engage with community, but with a shared value that support has no strings attached - no hidden agenda. You don't demand that someone share their story on your terms. You don't suggest that mental and emotionally healthy individuals would be able to move past that trauma by now. You embrace the beauty of space and stillness.

It is almost unbelievable to think that in 14 days from right now, I will have held my daughter in my arms again. But more than that first moment, I want to be one that offers her the freedom to choose the moments that follow. I want to be one that is available - present - intentional. 

In this life, the greatest gift we can offer each other is time - and she can have all the time she wants.

370

Three weeks from right this minute we should be getting into a car with Bunny and driving home. I will have hugged her for the first time in 370 days. I think the pandemic makes it a little easier for us to empathize what it must be like for Bunny to have so little human contact for 370 days. I think of how often she would cuddle with me or David or Charlie on the couch. I think about how my arm would naturally stretch across the back of her shoulders when we would sit an binge watch a show together. How I’d hold her hand when we were having a serious conversation. 

I think about this first hug when I see her - just 21 days from this moment- and the only thing I can compare it with is dreaming about my wedding kiss. While David and I certainly kissed before that moment in the ceremony, I used to lay awake wondering how it would be different - would the weight of the moment and it’s significance make it seem different? Would the people staring at us from the pews make us self-conscious? Would we both turn our heads the same way and bump noses? 

I know what it is like to hug Bunny - but I wonder about THAT hug....will it hold the weight of these 370 days or will it come close to capturing the joy in that moment? Will I cling, afraid of them taking her from me again? Will I instantly feel the difference of how much she has grown over the past year? 

I’m really not trying to overanalyze here - but I want to be able to savor that sweet reunion. I want to blast the heater off the car right before I get out so I actually feel warm and cuddly to her. I want to wear my softest clothes so her finger curl into the fabric like they did when she was a baby. I want the crook of my neck to smell the way she remembers me smelling. I want all of her senses to know she is home. 

And I want her to know that she will never count how long she has gone without a hug ever again. 

40

 We are 40 days out from Bunny's return and celebrating with meditating on Psalm 40 and U2's iconic song, "40". 

Bono summarizes the first few verses of the Psalm by singing: "I waited patiently for the Lord, He inclined and heard my cry. He lifted me up out of the pits, out of the miry clay and I will sing, sing a new song. I will sing, sing a new song."

If you stop here, you're tempted to think that this is a Psalm of praise for great things God has done - He has rescued His people yet again. The first 11 verses read like a typical song of praise - and David has written a lot of them. But you hit verse 12 and read about evil surrounding him, his heart failing, his accusers closing in, enemies delighting in his hurt and seeking to end his life. Psalm 40 ends with this verse (40:17) "But I am afflicted and needy. May the Lord be mindful of me. You are my help and my savior. Do not delay my God."

David is still in the pit. 

In fact, his life seems to move him from one pit to another. Someone betrays him. Someone attacks him. His own failings bring dishonor and pain to his home and family. Sounds a lot like us....

The author of Hebrews tell us (13:15) "Through Him then, let's continually offer up a sacrifice of praise to God, that is, the fruit of lips praising His name." Countless verses speak to praise God in all circumstance. It's an act of resilient faith to say that even when everything is falling down around me, I will still praise You for who You are. I can sing a new song, even when I am still in the pit waiting for deliverance.

Being in a countdown, it's easy to think that life will be full of sunshine and rainbows when Bunny returns. And while we will be thrilled, I know there are more challenges ahead of us. The transition alone is something I can barely wrap my head around and gives me great anxiety. How do I help her to find a new normal in a new home, new town, away from everything she knew, when her last 15 months were marked by guards, girls fighting, cold showers, bad food and separation from every person who loves her? And that's just step 0! 

I think we all can relate to this "living in a countdown" mentality after a year of COVID. We were waiting to go back to school or work or church. We were waiting for the vaccine. We were waiting for things to get back to normal. And then - after so much waiting, we realized that we would never return to where we had been. Even once we are all vaccinated, normal will not look the same as it once did. 

Our new song isn't about a change in circumstance. It's about a change in perspective. It's realizing that the same God that has saved me before - and will surely save me again - is here with me in the pit. I don't have to leave the pit to be saved. I'm already in the presence of God. And while this is always true, it's so hard to remember. The pit is so distracting and can feel absolutely overwhelming at times. I'm thankful for David's Psalms - giving me permission to cry out and praise and cry out again, all in just a few verses. I'm thankful....I'm needy...I'm scared... I'm confident....I'm praising....I'm desperate....

I might have to remind myself several times a day to sing a new song - but the God I am praising has never changed. And He has never left me.

Evermore

And I was catching my breath, barefoot in the wildest winter

Catching my death, and I couldn't be sure

I had a feeling so peculiar

That this pain would be for evermore 

Yesterday I was ill with a general malaise, unsure why I kept feeling so unsettled and anxious. Worn and weary even though I hadn't really done anything warranting that feeling of exhaustion. I had a weight on my chest that kept me glued to the couch, just waiting for it to be late enough for me to go to bed. Without moving, my head was a fog of vertigo. 

This morning, I heard back from Ms. Browning that Bunny would not be released until March 15 and that she would automatically be on probation. We are awaiting more information (and potential court dates) to know what that might look like after she is released.

The weight has a name - sorrow.

The dizziness has a name - uncertainty. 

While moving from 38 days to 52 may not seem like a big deal, symbolically it has a gravity that presses on me in so many ways. Not only is it 2 more weeks for Bunny to be gone, but it's another mental adjustment that moves us back away from where we want to be. It's another example of how the regular DOC rules don't apply because of how the judge wrote Bunny's sentencing - so although DOC would release her 3/1, the court will not. It's another facet of this world of juvenile corrections that has to be experienced and explored - how does probation work? What will that mean for day to day life? How many more court dates do we need to reserve on our calendar?

But for me the mental shift is back to one of captivity. Right or wrong, I've compartmentalized how life looks with Bunny gone - send her emails; read books with her; nightly phone call; a room with a door closed at the end of the hall. Jailed by reality - refusing to dream of what could be.

That's how I've lived for months....until we were counting down and passed day 45. Suddenly her return felt so close. I started coordinating the logistics for her first week back. I made mental to-do lists for things I needed to prepare. Her empty room was cleaned, the dust on the empty bookcase and floor swished away in anticipation. I started imagining her baking in the kitchen while I read. I started picturing what it would be like to say, "Hey B, what do you think about...." or "Bun - come look at this". She felt so close that I could almost see a blonde outline passing through the house.

But the door slammed on that mental activity as soon as I read the email. The weight on my chest - grief and sorrow - is a small loss of her all over again, because she felt so close and now the distance is unavoidable. 

What's 2 weeks in 15 months? We can do this. 

That's what I told her in my email delivering the bad news.

I doubt she will believe that any more than I do........

Email to Bunny - 1/8/2021

 Dearest Bunnisis - 

It's now 365 nights that you have not slept under my roof. A separation that feels just as unnatural today as it did a year ago. While you have been shuttled from holding cells and rooms and units, we closed up the house on Grackle, lived in an apartment and got a new house. All while feeling the very distinct Bunny-sized hole of you being gone. 

But home is not brick and mortar. It is not a room or an address on a mailbox. Home is belonging - and you belong to us. 18 months ago I fracture that sense of belonging - I left you and dad and AJ to start my new job. Despite my best intentions, that decision left a wake of pain that can never be undone - consequences far more terrible than I could have ever imagined. 

But belonging does not change. Not with distance. Not with time. Not with mistakes. Not with pain. Belonging is a constant - and you belong with me. 

Every night for 365 nights I have prayed that God would wrap you in His love and that no matter where you were you would understand that where you are is temporary - but belonging is forever. 

Soon you will be here. And all that was broken can begin to heal. What was lost can be found. What was old can be made new. But your belonging will never change. It never has and it never will. 

I love you so much. And I can't wait to have you here. 

Your BFFMommisis