Fear of falling

It all started when I was 9 months pregnant. I was lazily sitting on the couch with a cup of tea and staring into nothing when I noticed the bookshelf full of DVDs. When Mark and I got married, my DVD collection increased from like 5 to over 300 movies. I bought the book shelf from Ikea years ago, its imperfect form due to my lack in building skills and probably impatience to get it done. All of a sudden, I saw our little unborn baby girl crawling and lifting herself up using the shelf and bam! It falls on top of her. My heart raced a little and I made a mental note to look into screwing these and other such shelves to the walls.

A few days later, I had another vision. I was breast feeding and fell asleep. The baby fell out of my protective arms and onto the floor, hitting various edges of the bed on the way down.

Then there were the stairs.

And the sidewalk.

And the pot of boiling water knocking over and spilling on her.

Nothing is safe! I texted my friends. Help! I cannot seem to stop these visions! This fear is gripping my heart. My good friend texted back, "these will never stop in your head, but you must not let the fear take over". Ok. Try to remember. But it's easier said than done.

We brought her home and she seemed so small and frail. We prayed over our narrow staircase many times, even now when I carry her up or down them, I hold my breath a little.

And then it happened- it really happened. I thought it would be nice to take her for a walk. And since she hates the stroller, we must use the Bjorn, but only if she is facing outward so she can see everything. She had been quite fussy, but when I took her outside, she was again fascinated by everything. I showed her the trees and flowers like I normally do and we strolled. I decided to go the opposite way this time for a new view. She was so content. Every few minutes she would crank her little head up toward me and look in my eyes and I would kiss her little nose. I was telling her something, I do not even remember what,  when bam! I fell. It happened so fast. Next thing I knew I was on all fours on the cement and her head hit the sidewalk. Petrified, I stood up quickly and whisked her out of the carrier. She was quiet at first. Was she unconscious?! Then she started screaming- that's good! She's not in a coma. I tried to look for blood quickly but was actually afraid to check. We were almost home and I briskly walked home. Mark had heard her screaming and had just assumed the usual colickyness we experience everyday and met me at the door. He saw me running towards him and was smiling- NO! Don't smile! I think I killed our baby! I ran to him and said- I fell! And we rushed inside and I looked at her for the first time. I had blood on me so she had it now on her clothes and a little on her face. I passed her to Mark as I was shaking so badly, and thought- we must go to the ER! We need to check for skull fractures, bleeding, concussion.... Mark said, sit down. We need to pray. I was bawling. He prayed. Breathe.

It happened. One of my many fears came true. And she was fine. And again, the fear grips my heart of the potential outcomes.... but God is bigger. He is bigger than fear. And I cannot live my life in the what ifs... making back up plans and back ups to my back up plans. I need to learn to live in the present, giving the fears up to our wonderful Saviour and trust that no matter what happens, it will be ok. It's a scary place, this earth, when you bring someone into it. At first when they are so fragile and dependent, but even as they grow up and out of our arms.  Because anything can happen.

I checked on her a few times before I went to bed. Had a glass of wine and made myself stop thinking about it. We watched an episode of our current TV show. The next day, her face was already looking so much better. Her forehead and nose had abrasions as well as a little on one of her hands. The beginning of many falls with bumps and bruises.
Sigh. It will never end- the fear. The knowledge that she will get hurt no matter what I do to protect her.

Motherhood is very difficult that way, but I need to just continually run to God and ask Him to help me be strong and let go of the fear. Be careful, but not obsessive.

Thanksgiving

I can almost smell the turkey roasting in thousands of ovens, the cloves that season the millions of pounds of stuffing, and the pumpkin pie that you must save room for. Sitting here in my cute townhouse in California, I close my eyes and pretend I am with my family in Canada- I can hear my nieces playing down the hall and the hockey game competing with all the other conversations. I ask Jimmy how is job is going as we make some silly comments back and forth to each other and feel sad that my mom looks so tired sitting on the couch. I finally get to meet Xander and snuggle him and his chubby cheeks and everyone is passing around Sariah as they meet her for the first time. Maybe I can finally help Christine with the meal this time as she cooks all these different meats, even though she is a vegetarian and has been since she was 13. She is such a good mother. Then Grandma and Dad come over and dad and I both apologize for not speaking to each other in months, how we both mean to call but never do. He will love Sariah when he meets her. 

Seven years ago when I moved down here, it was only to be for a "year or two". I thought I could make some money, get a tan, have an adventure then move back up to Vancouver and settle somewhere. Mom said "if you go, you will never come back! You will get married!!!!". I reassured her that I made it through Bible college and Nursing school without getting married and really, California is much closer than Winnipeg! That seemed to convince her to "let" me go as I packed up my life and Canada and moved to a different country.

Then I met Mark.

The love of my life, movie watching partner, travel companion, expert food maker, and best friend. Living anywhere seemed fine as long as I was with him..... and our life here has proven to be incredibly fruitful. I have paid off debt, made wonderful friends and now we have had our first child. We are happy.

But I always miss home.  

I missed home when I moved myself to Winnipeg and spent four years in the snow, skating on the river, tobogganing down every hill we could find and battling millions of mosquitoes in the summer time.

 

I missed home when I was in Churchill- cramming a 4 month practicum into 3 months and living in the most extreme conditions I had ever known. Snow up to the rooftops, sun never setting, northern lights dancing, polar bears lurking, and tunnels connecting the town. 

I missed home when I moved to Liverpool- experiencing Northern England's finest and taking the most interesting course imaginable. Making friends from all over the world and hopping on planes to Ireland, Spain, France and Italy. 

I miss home everyday, when I check Facebook, browse Canada.com or hear from a friend. "Look, that was filmed in Vancouver, I KNOW it!" I often say to Mark when we are watching a movie and make him stay till the very end of the credits to prove I am right. 

But it's these occasions, when I know everyone is gathering together and I am not there, that are the hardest. 

I love Canada, I love Vancouver and I love love love my family. 

Another year here and another Thanksgiving missed, maybe next year I will be in the noisy living room competing with the hockey game to have a conversation with Jimmy.