Invisible Suffering

A month ago, I was struggling with balance and leg weakness. Most people didn't notice, except for when I attempted to wear high heels to church. Wobbles-ville. I felt like I was stumbling around with a leaden left leg.

Often, the symptoms of MS aren't noticeable. If you're wondering what some of these invisible symptoms might be, or what's really going on inside someone with MS, watch this.

In my church, one of my favorite hymns states, "in the quiet heart is hidden, sorrow that the eye can't see." That verse is ever present in my mind when I now look at others who may appear to be well put together. We all have a sad story to tell. Most of us don't show it on our face or even in our body. But, I can assure you, it's there. The beauty of what I've learned is that there is so much to be happy for in life and when you stop to cheer someone else along the way, you also benefit.

Take a look at those around you. Treat them with kindness and consideration whether you believe they have it all together or not.

Reconnecting Friendship

I met Jen in third grade. My family had just moved to Windham, Maine from Heber City, Utah. In an effort to harness my energy and desire to perform, my parents enrolled me into ballet classes. With nine kids my mom was busy and asked around about carpooling to and from dance classes, which were held in Portland (about 15 minutes away).

Coincidentally, one of my third grade classmates also took classes from the same dance school, so my smarty momma hooked up a carpool with the other dancer's mom. Sitting in a back seat for 15 minutes while her mom drove us to and from dance class gave me and my carpool pal a lot of time to chat and giggle. Soon, Jen and I were inseparable.

Throughout elementary school, junior high, and high school, we did nearly everything together. We even joked that we shared a brain. You know the kind of friend that finishes your sentences, knows exactly what movie reference you're talking about and laughs at all of your dumb jokes? That was Jen.

Then, I moved to Utah for college. We slowly fell out of contact. My parents moved from Maine to the West and the only remaining family tie there was a brother with whom I wasn't super close.

I would dream about Jen every now and then. Mostly I'd wake up feeling empty and sad. I'd put it out of my mind and tell myself, "people move on and so should I." But, I secretly longed for that connection with an old friend who had known and loved me when I was a chubby, self-conscious dancer worried about the rolls of fat that couldn't be hidden in her leotard. Jen was that friend for me. She always lifted me up and made me laugh.

My 20-year high school reunion was two weeks ago. I went to Maine and we reunited. I was just a little nervous that we wouldn't connect...but, I plunged in and just two weeks ago, I got my best friend back. Like old times we laughed, finished each others sentences, and were goofy and wacky together. I felt like a kid. Now we have weekly Skype dates...almost like we're in the back of her mother's car on the way to dance class.

It is one of the blessings of old friends that you can afford to be stupid with them.
- Ralph Waldo Emerson

There's something to be said about spending time with someone who has known you for 30 years. I love the friendship we had, but I'm giddy over the friendship we're reconnecting and building.

20-Year High School Reunion: A Journey Back in Time

Me and my bestie, Jen. Age 13. 

My journey back in time began with a Facebook invitation. Besides getting in touch with friends from my past, this frequent time waster was again filling up my inbox. The invitation, though, was one I couldn’t pass up — my 20-year high school reunion.  In Maine.

11 days after I graduated, I hopped a plane to college in Utah. Saying goodbye to family and friends was a bit hard, but I soon threw myself into this new adventure of college and being an adult. Two years later, I found myself in love, getting married and starting another adventure. I visited Maine once, after my first daughter was born, but didn’t really connect with any high school friends while there for the holidays. Aside from occasional online messages, I haven’t seen the 100 people with whom I shared graduation day. (Yes, my high school was that small.)

After making the decision, I’ve gone through the gamut of feelings. Excitement, trepidation, denial, anxiety, impatience, giddiness…all the emotions of a young girl getting ready for prom. 

I have to get my hair done! What am I going to wear? Should I try to lose a few pounds in a hurry? Will I still like my friends? Will they still like me?

I just turned 38. I feel all the angst of a teenager — without the smooth skin and endless energy. This is weird.

Funeral for a Friend

Today I attended a funeral for a man in my neighborhood. We went to church together and worked on several activities. I didn't know Bill very well, but I thought highly of him. He didn't tell many people that he was sick, nor did he ask for any attention once people knew about his quickly deteriorating condition. He thought more about others than he did about himself.

At his funeral several people spoke about all the kindness and service Bill was always doing while he was alive.  They spoke of his skills as a chef and gardener, how he loved to bring by little gifts and leave them without any recognition or fanfare. One neighbor recounted how he left a brand new barbecue grill on his front porch — as a gift. The widows and single women in his building knew he was their watchdog. Bill made them feel safe.

He didn't solve any major world problems, didn't leave behind a family, didn't know a lot of people either. He was quiet, simple, and humble. But, Bill left a lot of positive impression on those who knew him.

I thought about what was said about Bill at his funeral and started to think about what will be said at mine. In the book Seven Habits of Highly Effective People by Steven Covey the second habit states, "Begin with the end in mind." Covey encourages you to write down what you want people to say about you at your own funeral. He then goes on to point out that you should live your life in such a way as to be worthy to have those things said of you. I wrote things I wanted said at that point, several years ago, but attending this funeral today has me re-assessing what I would want said about me.

Here are a just a few:

From my kids:

• She built us up, believed in us and made us a priority. We knew we were important to her.
• She was loving, caring, fun and affectionate.
• She was a great example of how to treat others.

From my spouse:

• She was a great listener.
• She loved me and showed that love frequently.
• She was fun to be with and made us all laugh.
• She kept us all together and focused on being close knit.

From my friends:

• She had strong moral values, but never made you feel like she thought she was better than you.
• She loved her family very much.
• She had a positive attitude that was contagious. 
• She was a problem-solver and helped me solve many of my own problems.

If you could write your own eulogy, what would it say? What would your family and friends say about you?

Pocket-call protocol

You know those calls you get when someone sits on their phone or leans against their purse and accidentally dials your number? Some people call them pocket calls or butt dialing. I think I must get more of those than most people. With a name that begins with "Ba," my name must be near the top of the alphabetical list on most of my friends, family and acquaintances phone directory.

I don't mind getting random calls. In fact, when I get them as a phone message, I can't help but listen to most, if not all of the message. For some reason I think I might actually hear some juicy bit of information that wasn't meant for my ears. Like maybe the person calling will reveal how they really feel about me...or I'll hear some other sort of sordid detail that they want to keep hidden from the world. I'm like a rubbernecker passing a four-car pileup on the highway. I can't stop myself from listening to the whole muffled, jumbled and indiscernible message. Why can't I just hear the first few seconds and hit delete?

One day, my sister pocket dialed me about five times in a row. I stopped answering after the third one. What's the protocol here? Do I send her a text and tell her to lock her keypad? Do I call her back and leave a message that she needs to not lean on her phone so hard? Well...what do you do?

Asking for Help

Six years ago, while I was pregnant with my third daughter, I was the bridesmaid in my friend C's wedding. We weave in and out of the other's life. Our similarities have managed to hold us together — we worked together for about a year and a half, our oldest daughters are the same age and our younger daughter's share the same name (She claims I stole her idea for that name. Whatever.).

Today, she told me she's getting a divorce. She and I haven't talked in months. She moved further away about three years ago and we sort of fell out of our friend rythym. We didn't see each other at our kids' school or run into each other at the grocery store any more.  I had no idea what she had been going through in her marriage for the last year and a half. After talking for nearly an hour, I felt guilty and sad. Regret over how I could have been there for her washed over me.

She had pneumonia last December — I had no idea. When she was hurting over her husband's insensitivity,  I wasn't there. She said she put on a brave face and didn't tell anyone about what she was going through until just recently. I've done the same thing.

Why do we resist asking for help or reaching out for someone to talk to when we're going through pain? Do we think we're better off not sharing with our friends when emotions are too raw? Are we afraid we'll be embarrassed about falling apart in front of others after the fact?

Do I recommit to the friendship and call her like crazy? Do I let her go her own way and call me if she needs me? I feel as though too much contact would just drain me, but not enough will make me feel guilty. Plus, I don't know if she knows what she needs when she's never been through this before. What's the answer?