The love of my life is home. Words can't describe the peace I feel when he is here. He just makes everything better. I was actually dropping Alora off at dance when he got home. We had been texting love notes since he landed. When I got back home I had a clean kitchen. Yes in just that short of time he can transform a kitchen. Give him a few more minutes and he can transform a whole house, which is actually what he is doing while I am typing this morning :) He loves me!!!

I am not feeling so discouraged with him home. It was hard to have him gone. I just didn't have the mental energy to keep up with all twenty kids. Okay that doesn't sound right. They were fed, bathed, hugged, loved. It was the constant organizational things. The follow through, I couldn't follow through making sure things got put away or cleaned up. So there are toys to be organized and beds to be made, laundry to be folded. We did manage to vacuum and mop the kitchen floor. I did that mostly to keep the health department away :)

I cried a huge relief cry after he called to say he was on the plane getting ready for take off. I wept really. I almost felt guilty for needing him so much. Then I realized he is my gift from Heavenly Father. He takes care of me. Not in an obligatory emotionless way like my mother did. He takes care of me, spoils me, because he loves me and I can feel it. He doesn't chastise me for not being better, for not being perfect. He knows house keeping doesn't come naturally to me, and most definitely does not come at all when I am pregnant, and yet he still loves me. I kinda wonder if he doesn't actually love that about me; that I can take on the world, but I can't keep a clean house :) (He just rescued me from a spider...on the wall across the room...a rescue non-the-less).

I am still sick (pregnancy), and really tired. I still feel like my brain cells are being snatched, used and returned empty and useless. But I feel hopeful today. I feel blessed. By this evening my house will be organized, cleaned and refreshed. We will later this week begin packing for our trek out east to Tennessee for his sister's upcoming nuptials. Life is good and it is always getting better.

I am losing my mind with this pregnancy. Really. I am not just saying that. This pregnancy is different. I have never felt the way I do. Sometimes I feel like I am dieing. I can see how that might sound crazy, but it is the truth. I feel like the life is being sucked out of me. Usually when I am pregnant I LOVE television or movies. As a family it is all we usually do for the first three months or so. Not so much right now, quite the opposite really. I turn it off, that and music. WHAT!! Yes I turn music off. Okay something is definitely wrong. Music is my life. From dawn until dusk I have music on. Primary music, classical, hip-hop, Celine Dion, my mixes....something. I have something on. I am too tired though. Mentally, physically... I am too tired to listen to music. I cry too. I cry a bazillion times a day because of how I feel. I never cry pregnant, unless it is a cotton commercial or watching the stories of the people who run the Iron Man. I have this overwhelming feeling of wanting to "throw in the towel". I want to throw my hands up and say okay I am done. Ray seems to think that it is because he is gone. I have never been with out him in the beginning of a pregnancy. The end yes. Delivery yes. Beginning no. We are both hoping that once he is home and can assume all my responsibilities :) that I will feel better. I am looking forward to a blessing as well. Those always help clear my mind and give me perspective.

It was short lived relief. I should have known. It was wonderful though. Heavenly almost. I was able to keep food down for a full 24 hours. And then it was like a switch went, and my body didn't care about the consistent electrical pulses being sent to my brain. I lost it, literally, there wasn't much to lose but it was evidence enough that the band was no longer working. Oh well, there is always Zofran and Phenergan. My only vice really with those is how sleepy I get when taking them. Dead to the world sleepy. My kids did okay today though while I lay pasted out on the couch. They played on the floor beside me. My older ones said they knew I needed to sleep so they played with the little ones so I could rest. Good kids. Amazing really. Aspen loads the dish washer, Alora vacuums. Even baby Ray gets in on the action and "teaches" Alexa where to put her things. My house is still very much in disarray, but the husband comes home Monday night and he has promised to restore things to a more comfortable way.

Is it sad that I won't miss this part of my life? I have enjoyed being pregnant, giving birth, and being a mother of a wee one. But I won't miss this. I won't miss diapers. Will I? I will miss the smells, sounds and excitement of watching a little person grow. I won't miss being sick. I've had a good run. :) I never imagined feeling this way. Never wanting to be pregnant again. I have heard people say it and have wondered if I would ever feel that. Well here we are. Six pregnancies. I am okay with being done now. If the Lord tells me to have more then I will, but I don't want to do this sick thing any more. I am sure he understands. I know he does. The thing is really I feel done. I feel like everyone will be here. I think that is why I can't imagine doing it again. I feel like I am crossing another one of my life's finish lines. And I feel good about my "run".

PrimaBella!! Oh how I love thee!!! This sums it up!

I am missing my husband right now. LOTS! He is on what is called Annual Training(AT). It is his two weeks a year that must be done for Army Reserves. He is my best friend. I miss having him here to just sit by me. He isn't a talker, I fill that job :) But he is great at listening, kinda :) Really he just lets me be me and doesn't interfere. He makes everything better. When I have a rough day and the dishes don't get done, or the floor needs vacuuming, he just does it with out me even saying a word. My dishes need to be done, my floor needs a lot more than vacuuming and my laundry is winning the territory war on my bed. AND when I am pregnant and sick, he makes me breakfast and brings it to me in bed (because it helps to eat before I actually get up). He makes dinner, and puts the kids to bed and gets things ready for the next day. Really I am spoiled. I don't mind though :) I miss his hugs. I miss his smell. I miss him.

I forget every time just how tired I get with pregnancy. I forget that I spend so much time staring at walls not thinking. It is by some miracle that my children get fed. Thank you General Mills for making such a variety of cereals :) Most of the time I lay on the floor and Arwyn just crawls on me. She doesn't know I am sick and tired, she just likes having me on the floor as her personal jungle gym. The older girls are doing amazing. Today is Alexa's birthday. So they got up this morning and put up streamers and balloons and made a marshmallow cake for her, including sprinkles and a number 3 candle. We had birthday party for her last weekend before Ray left with a fancy cake and the family, so I thought the marshmallow cake was perfect. My house needs some desperate attention, of which I can't give it right now. I have to remind myself that in a couple of months I will be me again, for now I must embrace the crumbs, pieces of papers from who knows where, and parts of toys :) EVERY WHERE!! But if you want to come over and help I will not stop you ;)

Suicidal ideation. Basically it means your brain entertains the thought of suicide. I was remembering this morning a time when I struggled with that. Years actually. One particular moment I was recalling happened while I was staying with Ray's parents in Tennessee. Looking back I know I was on too many medications. Abilify, Wellbutrin, and I believe two others, one to help me sleep and another to help with anxiety. I don't readily recall the names. I am also very sensitive to medications so the dosage that I was at was way too high.

I remember laying in the bedroom of my sister in laws. I could see the plan perfectly in my head. I knew how I was going to die, how I could take my own life. I lay there paralyzed. I didn't want to get up because I was afraid that if I moved I would begin to take action. I was scared of myself. I laid there and cried and cried, I was aching for someone to help me. I wanted someone to reprogram my brain, to make the craziness go away. Ray's mom did finally come to check on me and all I could muster to say was "I need a blessing".

Sometimes I was asked if I thought I asked for "too many" blessings. Really??? Can there be too many? The Lord was my only ally, my only relief and my only hope. It was during those blessings that I could "see" an end to it all. I knew that if I hung on to him that I would survive my mental hell. I was told the same thing often in my blessings; to read my scriptures, to pray, to love my children, to serve and to have faith. So that is just what I did everyday. My service was too my children. Most of the time my brain was too scrambled to really be able to focus on reading, so I would stare at them and pray, or look for words that gave me hope.

Prayer. Oh I love prayer. I talked to Heavenly Father ALL day. I had too, or I knew I would die. Suicide was a predominate thought. I didn't want too, but my brain wanted too. It was overloaded with medication and too much that happened in one lifetime. It couldn't handle it all. I couldn't handle it. So I prayed.

I didn't know that I would eventually have a healing from the bi-polar disorder. The Lord had told me I would have another miracle, one that would evidence to my family of His hand. I thought that it would mean that I just would one day be able to function despite the darkness. So I hung on to that hope.

I did have suicide attempts, cries for help or attempts to run from the craziness that was my mind. I overdosed. I cut. I remember thinking with every time how I just wanted to sleep, I wanted relief. Some judged me, thinking that I was trying to get attention not understanding where my mind wasn't. Others required more from me emotionally, reminding me of the selfishness of the acts. That was more motivating, because I wasn't trying to hurt anyone, I just wanted relief. Their disappointment motivated me. Judgments hindered me.

Many thought I just needed to "buck up", get outside and do something. It wasn't that simple. If you have never truly been depressed then you will never understand the power of the brain in that capacity. I wanted to get up, I wanted to not feel dark and hellish, but it wasn't me that was causing the feelings. It was environmental, situational and physical. It was a result of the things I had been through. I did try everyday, but my tries were not what the world would define as "try". My "try" was to look my children in the eyes and tell them I loved them and that they have a Heavenly Father who loved them. I wrote my testimony in my journal. I prayed.I asked for LOTS of blessings. I clung to my Savior. None of it was tangible, but it was real. My tries got me where I am today. I am grateful to my Savior who stood by me literally during my darkest hour. I believe really he carried me through so much of it. My plea to anyone and everyone is too not let the world tell you how to endure ANYTHING, ask the Lord how to do it. His way is more healing and more permanent. The Lord blessed me with inspired doctors and friends. Pray for discernment to know which of what is said to you is from him, and which is opinion. His way will never makes sense to the world, and you will find much opposition in following him, but you will also find permanent peace and healing. Pray for your friends and family who are suffering from depression or any mental illnesses. Pray to able to love them and to see them through the Lord's eyes. You could be an instrument in their healing.

I am tired. Really, really exhausted. It is however for a good cause. I am pregnant yet again :) It was on purpose, I wanted another baby. With this pregnancy I have found though that I have less brain than other times. Here's an example:

Ray drove down to Orem for work yesterday. I had called to ask him his ETA. We talked for a minute or two then hung up. About 30 minutes later I called him to see where he was at and if he would be able to pick up Alora from dance. I had to quickly hang up because there was a disturbance among the children. As I am driving Alora to dance some 20 minutes later I am thinking to myself, multiple times mind you, "Why hasn't Ray called me to let me know if he has left work?". Thank goodness for angels because one whispered to me that I had actually called him already. I KNOW it was an angel because my mind is too gone to have remembered on its own. I believe it was done in an effort to spare my husband any pregnancy wrath that could have unduly come his way for "not calling me back".

I love the journey of pregnancy. I love that at least for me my pregnancies are very similar and yet very different. I love the excitement surrounded by bringing another spirit into our family. Will it be a boy or a girl? What will their personality be like?

I love having a big family. I love the idea of having more bodies in my home. Yes more!!! I love it!! I really do love the chaos. I love the messes. I love how we have to work together everyday to make it the best. I love that my home is cluttered with evidences of my children. It isn't perfectly dusted, decorated or organized. But it is filled with love and kids. One day my house will be perfectly kept. Everything in its place, and a place for everything. But my children will be gone living their own lives with their own families. So I shall enjoy the messes, the crumbs and the colored walls while I still have them in my home.

I feel good. Oh I feel so good. I feel peaceful. I feel happy. The Lord has blessed me with so much.

A couple of months ago I had my "final" healing blessing. Ray was the one who administered. It was beautiful. During the blessing over and over I heard in my mind the words "it is done, it is finished". I felt like I had crossed a finish line. At the completion of the blessing I felt exhausted, and yet freed of something intangible. That healing was a spiritual healing, meaning it literally healed my spirit. My first healing in 2003, removed the scars, the nightmares and ugliness associated with my abuses. I had another healing in 2007 in which the Lord healed me from bi-polar disorder, which I believe was a result of the drastic emotional inconsistencies, manipulations and the sexual and physical abuses I endured. This healing, my most recent, healed the parts of my spirit that had been damaged by a mother who failed me as an infant, child and adult.

I feel the healing. I feel freed from years of feeling like I was in an endurance race. A race against myself. I did not want to repeat any of my childhood with my children. And the only way to do that was to face myself. To not repeat something you have to figure out what part of you is on repeat. You have to face the parts of you that are exactly what you promised yourself you would never be. Changing the past is not easy. I am glad that it wasn't. I don't think I would appreciate where I came from, if it was easy to get where I am.

I get to live now. I don't know that many can really understand what that means. I get to be me, and enjoy the fruits of my labors, and life.

I am not perfect now that I had all my healings. I am, however, no longer dysfunctional . I avoid things. I procrastinate. But I don't hit my children. I don't tell them I hate them, or how worthless they are.

It isn't about being perfect anyway. I think weaknesses can blessings. Another opportunity. With weakness we are reminded of our humanness, of our dependence on God. I am grateful for my weaknesses because they give me something to work on. I think people spend to much time stressing about what the don't do right, or avoiding or trying to hide their imperfections. My weaknesses combined with my strengths make me who I am. And I wouldn't trade me for anything.

So what happens if I never figure out how to stay on top of the laundry? I just never figure out how to stay on top of the laundry. Will my children some how miss something in life with out perfect folded and put away clothes? Will they some how resent me for having to dig through the baskets of laundry or the dryer to find their clothes? I doubt it. I don't think they notice really because I don't beat myself up about it.

One of my favorite questions I ask myself, and my children is "What happens if _____ doesn't happen?" I believe the question was inspired by my fav doctor in Boston when I was dealing with OCD. It is a powerful question. What happens if your dishes don't get done, right now? What happens if you are never able to be an early riser? What happens if there is evidence of children in your home while they are awake? There are somethings that have a legitimate answer. But I believe so much of the negative self talk that haunts women could be alleviated but this simple question.

We can't, and we won't be perfect. Embrace it. Run with it and make the most of it. Find the joy of being human and imperfect.

The end

I have and had made peace with my relationship with my grandfather. So when I got the message from my step-cousin I was concerned but not panicked. My Dad found out from his brother that yes in fact he was dieing. I got the number of the hospice center and after praying about it decided calling would be okay. My grandfather's brain is shrinking and his heart is failing. He can't talk and he doesn't recognize anyone. Kathryn however was cordial. She put the phone up the his ear so I could talk to him. I told him I loved him and that I wasn't afraid of him dieing. I said I knew that where he was going he would be able to find peace, that the Savior could heal his heart of the anguish and misery that he carried around during this mortal life. I told him that I knew that he knew my testimony and that I loved him. I told him that I had five amazing kids, and that they didn't know what he, my father and I knew as children. I told him I broke the chain, that it ended with me. I believe that though he might not have understood my words that he could feel the "spirit" of which I said. I have felt only peace about his being so ill. I did my part and that is all I could do. I know that he can be healed and the hurts he carries. He was not a good father, and not a very good grandfather, but there is a reason. People are not by nature mean, so somewhere in his life something not good happened to foster such negative characteristics in him. I don't know if he has passed and I am not sure if anyone will tell me, but as I said before I am at peace and hopeful for what lies ahead for him in the eternities.

Part II

15 years ago today (may 26) I left Texas and moved to St. George, Utah. I believed my grandfather to be on "my side" and left boxes of my stuff at his home. Here is a bit of irony. Because of the nature by which my grandfather lived I know that no one ever touched my boxes. I am sure he found with in this another opportunity to one up some one, namely my mother. You see those two were and are like gang members; loyal until is was profitable to be unloyal. My mom wanted my stuff. She wanted to dig through it and claim what she felt was rightly hers. I am not sure what she would have done with one of my Caboodles, or my old Cabbage patch puffy stickers, or old notes from high school, but she wanted it I do know. He would eventually mail the boxes to me in Utah.

I remember one phone conversation later that fall in 1995 when I was asking for help in purchasing a vehicle. I was wondering if he would match the money I had saved so I could buy a car. Oh the reasons he had has to why he could not help me, despite me reminding him that he said that he would help me financially if I ever needed it. (I needed about $700 more to buy a beater car) He had once proclaimed that he knew my parents were incapable of being there for me so he would be. Liar. If you are wondering why I ever believed him in the first place. At the time I did not know what I know now. My whole life was lies and manipulation, so I really didn't know how at the time to tell the difference. And I was so desperate for some kind of support that I trusted what he said. He basically told me in that conversation that I was on my own. That there would be no money. Not even $20. That he had learned how to survive with out anyone and so could I. Despite such a resolute remark or statement from him I continued to call. Hoping that at some point he would see my predicament and help me. I think outside of needed financial help I wanted love. My mom hated me, my dad was at his height of insanity, and my grandpa was aloof to any one's needs but his own. They were all I had, so I called hoping that one day they would see me.

That is how it went for so many years. I did move back to Texas for a few months. The abuse or neglect wasn't really any different except that it was face to face instead of over the phone. One evening particularly sticks out in my mind. I had stopped by my mom's to get some of my stuff from my sister. My grandfather was there. Mom was not going to let me leave with the box, even though she knew it was mine. Her argument was that it was in her house so anything in it belonged to her. He stood in the door way preventing me from opening the front door while she spit in my face and screamed at me. She tried to take the box and I fought for it. They threatened to call the cops and tell them I had broken in and was trying to steal stuff. They said some pretty awful stuff about me as a person and how I deserved all that I had gotten in life. I truly feared for my life. I don't know what let them allow me to leave but eventually they did. Not with out threats and a few fun words tossed in.

I eventually moved back to Utah (1997). This time I didn't call anyone for a long time. Eventually though I did call. It was the same ol' same ol'. "Well Andi, your mother....." "and your father....." "and can you believe....".

In 1998 I took over payments on a friends car. She got pregnant which for some reason made her a little crazy. One day when driving to lunch there was this Nissan Pathfinder that was following me. It scared me a bit so I tried to lose it. I pull up to a light thinking it was gone and this girl, lets call her Crazy Lady, comes out of no where and jumps on the hood of the car and starts screaming at me. I know she is prego so I don't drive off. Eventually she calms down and asks to talk. I am so naive at this point in my life and so I unlock the car door. She jumps in and starts kicking me and screaming for me to get out. Again I know she is pregnant and had already had a miscarriage so I don't kick back. I tried to push her off but it is a little hard when her size nines were in my face. A face that I liked and didn't really want smashed in. So I get out and grab my stuff as quick as I can. She opens the trunk and lets me take out the rest. Okay here is where I am the bad guy. I removed the newly updated registration sticker I had just paid for. So there I am standing in the middle turn lane somewhere around 21st south in Salt Lake with all my stuff. Some guys from work stopped and offered a ride. My head was seriously spinning. After that Crazy Lady proceeded to call my grandfather and tell her I had stolen her car and a million other things that weren't true. My grandfather being the honest man he isn't, gave her numbers of other people in East Texas who might be interested in this information. I didn't know she had called him. She called me and said she was going to sue me for the miles I had put on her car. Now I had made the car payments, but she was going to sue for the miles???? I attract crazy people :) I called my grandfather for advice. He told me to "pull up my boot straps", that "the truth will come out". She calls me one night to ask me why I had not registered the car. Well I had, I told her, she said "no you didn't the DMV has no record.' I was thinking sweet revenge, maybe only $100 revenge but revenge non the less. I begin to tell her that I talked to my grandfather and she interrupts and tells me that she has as well. She tells me when, and that he assured her that she would have his full cooperation in getting me to pay her the thousands of dollars she was sure she deserved. I felt like someone had kicked me in the teeth. Seriously? Does the betrayal never end?

The sheriff's department got involved and once they heard my side of story, along with my bank statements showing I had paid, and my boyfriend's story, she was told that if she harassed me again that she would be arrested.

Needless to say it would be many more years before my grandfather would hear my voice on the other line. It wasn't until 2001 after I had Aspen. I wanted him to know he had a great granddaughter. My mom didn't care and I wasn't talking to my dad so I reached out to him. He and Kathryn sent her gifts. We exchanged pleasantries. The correspondence was infrequent. I would go months before calling. They never called. It wasn't until one therapy session that I ever realized that I did all the calling. I called when Alora was born. And then I hit rock bottom.

I was so depressed after her birth that I did good to wake up and shower. I didn't think about him. I was working towards a healing.

The Lord revealed to me that in order for me to be healed I had to forgive my father, my mother and my uncle. Hard thing to do. But I did, to the best of my abilities. That September as I knelt in prayer, my Savior healed me. He came to me and healed me. He removed the ugly scars associated with years of endless abuse.

I don't remember when I finally told my grandfather of my healing. He is not a religious man so the whole story meant nothing to him. Almost the instant I told him of my miracle he dismissed it and began again with the same ol' lies and manipulation. I called him after we had our son. He knew I had begun correspondence with my father. He told me that he could have nothing to do with me if I was having anything to do with him. After that phone call I prayed mightily to know what to say to him.

I wrote my grandfather a letter. I told him again of my healing. I shared with him my testimony of our Savior Jesus Christ. I told him I knew the Book of Mormon was true. I shared with him my testimony of the power of forgiveness, and the opportunity it gives us to see others through the Lord's eyes. I poured out my heart to him with love. I told him however that I would not be told who I could or could not communicate with. I told him I loved him and I knew that he knew that.

I called to make sure he had received the letter. His remarks were as before. So we parted our ways.

My Grandfather Part I

Last Thursday I got probably the most random message on facebook. It read: I'm writing you ONLY because I think you have the right to know. Hospice was called in yesterday for your grandfather. If you want to know anything else you can call my grandmother. I did not recognize the name so I called my dad to inquire (that is a fun word to say) as to whether or not he knew who it was. He said it was my step cousin. My grandparents divorced when I was a baby and then both remarried. My grandfather's new wife was actually the former wife of my grandmother's new husband. You might have to read that again :) It's another one those "stories". Anyway. So his new wife, Kathryn, had one daughter, and that daughter had a daughter...Rachelle, and that is who contacted me on facebook.

I have not spoken to my grandfather in years. Not by my choice. I don't recall verbatim our last conversation, but I do remember the gist of it. I had just recently begun talking with my father after ten years and my grandfather was not happy about it. My grandfather hates my dad. Yes I said "hates". That is a strong word here my house, but truly it is how he feels. When my dad was just about 6 years old my grandfather told him, "I have never really liked you." He basically went on to tell him he probably never would. In fact for the rest of my father's life, his father would literally seek out opportunities to sabotage him. One example: my dad had a motorcycle that he had purchased, on his way out the door one day he asked his dad to either take it in or mail his payment check to the dealer. Instead, my grandfather tore the check up. Tangent: that was the kind of stuff my mom would do. He was also very physically abusive towards my father.

As a child I remember not seeing my grandfather for years and then one day them being at our house. I remember the feeling of having them there, I knew my parents were walking on egg shells. I could sense even at a young age that at any moment something might go wrong and things could get ugly. For awhile we weren't "allowed" to come to their house, like there was some kind of test my parents had to pass to be able too. Maybe that is why I have a bad taste for the "boxes" that society places on us. I don't do clicks, I have never been a "club" person, or ever had anything to do with things that exclude people socially. I won't walk that line.

I remember my parents conversations, arguments really, about my grandfather. My mom didn't like him for so long. My dad wanted to try to have a relationship with him. I can empathise with that. I am sure he longed to have his dad love him, so he went to extraordinary lengths to try to attain something that was not to be.

When my dad was going through his crazy time my grandfather was all of sudden there for us. My dad is bi-polar but he didn't know that twenty years ago. He went to a psychiatrist because he felt depressed so they put him on prozac. Well a bi-polar on prozac is like a 3 year old with no nap living off of pixy sticks times 1000. Toss in emotional imbalances including rage, resulting from a rotten childhood and you get my dad. They started him out at a low dose and for the next few years upped the dosage which only made his life and ours worse. It was during that time that my father sexually abused me. He was very violent and scary. He was abusive to us all. Scary abusive. That was when I would sleep with my Book of Mormon, I knew it would protect me.

I know now that the reason my grandfather made his sudden rescue appearance into our lives was because there was some sick validation he found in having a son out of control. It wasn't about his love for us.

When my mother kicked me out my freshman year to bring my dad home from the psych ward my grandfather took me in. His job was to convince me that the abuse never happened. He and my mom were now the best of friends. They both would corner me and rant about how I made it all up and how I would not be allowed to ruin our family with my lies. I was told if I ever brought it up again I would be shipped away from my family. What was interesting is that they were the ones bringing it up everyday, reminding me not to bring it up. Crazy!!

Over the next four years of my life my grandfather's role was to support my mother. They relished in my father's psychological decline. Instead of helping him, they degraded him, manipulated him, and made up lies about him. Looking back I realize that they found great satisfaction even happiness in my father's weaknesses. He was losing his mind, and they sat back and watched enjoying every moment.

I was reminded over and over by my grandfather of the awfulness of my father. He would even go so far as to betray my mother and reveal her lies and manipulations in regards to my dad and us kids. That was a heavy load to carry as a child. And then he would turn his evil ways on me and in a manipulative way that there really is no definition for, convince me of how awful I was, and how I really was the reason my parents marriage was falling apart.