Well Kane and I kicked summer off at the Wendell swim club. The water was freezing and upon ignoring Kane altogether his fear collapsed to cautious bravery as he slipped beneath the water 3 times. Yay for Kane. Here's to a summer of learning to swim. It wasn't until later that I discovered that while Kane is the debater of all things fun and/or necessary when it comes to water, Parker is the infamous (and fearless) "Flipper" from that '90's show about the crime-stopping dolphin. Meanwhile, baby Colt is swimming in a sea of placenta and quite content to stay put (thanks for that darling..).
In the mean time we have ventured into the quest of dog-training with our youngest member of the family, Sascha the husky shepherd. Leash walking on day one ended with me scratched, bleeding, and bruised from literally head to toe. That puppy is bigger than a Smart Car. She could eat me. The plus is that 3 weeks later she is now able to walk on a leash and does well when there are no cats in her line of vision. We have discovered, to our dismay, that when we leave our front door open to the protection of the storm door only, she is able to barge through the storm door (even when locked), and will go on a rampage in search of our cat Bell-a-bell. Poor Bella, she has scaled trees and vanished in gutters to avoid the gnashing teeth of this car-like animal. All in all, training is going quite well :o)
I also spent a week with the boys at my dad's place near Topsail Island. We combed the beach every day and for me, it was a much needed period of isolation. Sometimes the quiet fields of Verona, and the eternal love of my father are the only therapy I need to forget that raging battle of integrity inside me.
But the real highlight of the summer has been the legalities and compassion surrounding a family member with intense depression and his stint at the neuroscience facility in UNC Chapel Hill's hospital.
My parents divorced when I was a preschooler and my uncle moved in with my dad closely afterwards. He never left. In hindsight I noticed that he slept ridiculously long hours (or days) and never engaged much with me as a child. But I loved him so severely that I cannot imagine what it would have been like to grow up without him in my home. I stayed at my dad's house on Thursdays and every Friday morning I woke up, made my bed ("Navy style" to suit my uncle's taste...though he dubbed a redo regardless), and went to the bathroom to find a treat of some sort on the counter. If I couldn't sleep, we would do word puzzles together and watch TV drama. If I left a mess of any kind he cleaned it up religiously. I slept with "Little Foot" the stuffed animal from The Land Before Time until I was 18 and when I wasn't at my dad's... my uncle babysat him for me. He even stitched him up once or twice. My uncle had impeccable taste in design and bought home furnishings and furniture to change the look of my bedroom and bathroom. I loved my uncle because he was consistent, reliable, predictable, and constant. Yet there was a volatile imbalance in him that came with ironies and impulsiveness. And that was interesting to me too. I looked forward to those late nights when he arrived home from work (having always worked the night shift), when he would let me in on something he'd been pondering. It could have been a brand new car, a speeding ticket, or new furnishings, but whatever it was, it was always so endearing to find him excited or emotional about something. Something. Anything.
He was involuntarily committed to UNC a little over a week ago. He just didn't think he could go on and the reality of his threats to his life became too convincing. I've visited almost everyday. He's laid in a bed for 4 of them. I saw no hope, I saw anger, sadness, frustration. On that 2.5 hour daily round trip... I often think, "Where are you? Where is my constant? I need you to get up and try." Some days I just feel so small next to his big listless heart. My dad and his twin brother came up to visit with him on Saturday after we listed his house on the market. This momentous day meant much to our family as we gear up to move my uncle home to be with his brothers in Verona. The nurses are reporting some activity on his part (finally), though he continues to be reluctant to face the day. I witness to him daily, though I know he loves the Lord. I read from the Bible... it's calming and lyrical sonnets. I rub his back and tell him how much he is loved by so so so many people.
It's not as if the signs weren't there all these years. We all knew he had his struggles. It certainly wasn't the first time he'd fallen into a deep depression. His obsessive compulsive tendencies and anxiety were clear indicators. Have you ever seen the show "Monk"? Picture that guy with manic depression... working the night shift at a convenient store for 18 years. You get the idea. It took a non-family member to call the world to attention to my uncle's inner turmoil. Some days I wish it were one of us that had realized he was beyond the help of the love of his family... that his conflicts ran too deep even for us. I consider my family one of the strongest units on earth. They are vast. Their support runs deep and complete. Among the many things I have learned from this, it's that my family is limitless in their collaboration to help. Yes, we each have boundaries.... but the desire to support and raise up is flawless. I think that is rare, and I know I've been blessed to have them. I am beyond grateful that my children can say they are a part of of this particular family, and that they will know it actually means something enduring... something bigger than themselves. And I pray that my uncle will find strength in God's sufficient and perfect power to reveal purpose to his life.
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