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.