A couple years ago, on my twentieth wedding anniversary, I tried to keep breathing. I inherited my mother’s brown eyes, my father’s broad, flat feet, and from both of them, poor lungs. Asthma.
I gather my lips around my inhaler, like a scuba diver on dry land, inhaling two puffs of albuterol while I hold in the medicine that makes my world expand again. I hold my breath to breathe again.
I am a woman who has learned to pay attention to inspiration, breathing in as deeply as possible to stay alive. This has come in handy.
Sometimes, when bipolar depression drags the hope from me, I tell myself, Just one more breath, just one more moment. You just survive a little longer because hope rebounds. I shade my eyes with my hand and look to the far flung sky and wait for hope to boomerang back to me. I just have to catch it, have to keep my hand open and raised to the heavens.
Sometimes it’s my anxiety that leaves me breathless, panting while my lungs hound me for breath, while tongues wag and wonder what could be wrong with me as I abandon my half-full grocery cart in the store and make a beeline for my car, for a Xanax on my palm and a swig of water to wash it down and make it all hush for a second. I try not to retch like a dog with a bone caught in its throat.
So on our anniversary, when Josh and I might have packed an overnight bag and gone on some adventure holding hands while we drove, when I might have thread dangly earrings through my lobes while he fastened my necklace from behind, warm fingers on my neck, our eyes catching in the mirror, when we might have toasted ourselves by candlelight, when I might have brought something with lace instead of cotton, instead we stayed home.
Instead, I tried to breathe. Instead, we knew any extra money we might have had for celebrating would go to surviving. My days strung together hanging haphazardly onto months one after the other, matching and tattered. I could almost picture the dollar signs cha-chinging over each prescription bottle lined up on my nightstand, the cost of nebulizer treatments and urgent care visits.
When May flowers bloomed and the pollen dusted our cars with golden powder, I sat in the small box of sunshine spreading through the window and watched the world go on without me. Our nine-year-old rode his bike in circles around our driveway and the dog chased him. I watched daffodil heads and lily leaves dance in the breeze through a thick pane of glass, smudgy from our dog’s nose and eager paws.
Josh brought home peonies, fish tacos, and paper towels. I can’t think of a better anniversary gift. For twenty years, sickness and health has been so much more sickness. For richer or poorer has been mostly poorer. But for better still wins out over worse. He woke up at 6am to take the kids to school for a field trip. He put up a fence for my mom’s hops to grow along. He edged the lawn. He brought me coffee while I worked on book edits. He warmed up leftovers. He grabbed the glass cleaner and the squeegee and went to work on my window so I’d have a clear view of spring, even if I couldn’t go outside.
It’s when I sat aside the spotless glass and felt the sunshine on my cheekbones, watching the gentle stampede of spring marching across the soil in an army of tulips and hyacinth that I heard a thwack so loud I flinched as though I’d been slapped. Under the windowsill I saw a small yellow bird on its side in the grass. I could see its breast pulsing, but its wings were still. I didn’t know I’d screamed until my kids ran into the room. My son ran out and scooped him up gently bringing him to me. I unwrapped his body and his wing tried to flutter, I felt his chest heaving on my palm.
He was trying to breathe. I was crying and trying to breathe too. It was as if all of my hope was in his poor, broken body.
My ribs were a birdcage hatch shut tight on the flapping, flightless wings of my heart.
I thought maybe I could save him. I imagined googling some kind of bird splint and repairing him with a popsicle stick and some gauze, setting him free to fly towards hope again. Even as I thought it, I knew it was crazy, but I didn’t want to lose anymore. A few breaths later, he stilled. My kids dug a hole and buried him under the tallest lodgepole along the edge of lilies. I googled yellow birds in Central Oregon and think he might have been a warbler of some kind.
Naming lost things always helps me make sense of them.
I’m no saint; I feel disappointment. My first instinct isn’t always to see the hope, the beauty, the grace.
Sometimes I want to sit in my box of sunshine and feel the darkness pressing in on all sides.
Sometimes even when we have the most beautiful view in our sites, there is brokenness too. Sometimes we’re just trying to catch the light, just trying not to crash, just trying to see clearly, just trying to hope a little longer. Sometimes this brown-eyed, flat-footed, asthmatic woman sits behind her window under the pines, and she just keeps trying to breathe, keeps reaching her palm open to the skies, hoping to warn the warblers.
[bctt tweet=”Naming lost things always helps me make sense of them. -@aliajoyh:” username=”incourage”]
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Bev @ Walking Well With God says
Alia Joy,
Sometimes I look at all the years an abusive marriage, anxiety, depression, and surgeries have gobbled up in my life. I think I could be very bitter if I wanted to be. But, God….”I will restore the years the locusts have eaten…” Joel 2:25. God, in His goodness repays us for lost time. His love can bring joy in years scarred with regret. What a gift your husband is and what a gift you are to Him. Keep counting the moments of joy.
Blessings,
Bev xx
Alia Joy says
We got away last weekend. A dear friend of my my mom’s owns a condo/cabin close by that she rents out and she let us stay there for free. It was so needed and so wonderful and such a testament to the goodness of God. Not that those hard times weren’t as well, but it was so nice to breathe deep and just enjoy a respite.
Laura says
Sweet! Glad you got some necessary away time! Sorry about the bird, and the chronic illnesses, especially the bipolar. (I have it too, along with a bunch of other things. I see how brave you are in the midst of fierce storms.)
Elizabeth says
Alia –
I am always grateful for your openness, rawness and vulnerability. Thank you for allowing God to touch others through your words.
Elizabeth
Tonya says
Yes!! Perfectly stated!!
Peace and Blessings.
Tonya
Alia Joy says
Thank you for your kind words and thanks for reading.
Michele Morin says
Thank you for the beauty of your words and the way you make space for others to bring their disappointment forward, to give it a name, and to offer it up as we read about your own offerings.
Alia Joy says
I think naming disappointment and allowing ourselves space to grieve the lost things is so very important. Thank you for reading.
Jan says
” I waited patiently for the Lord.
He turned to me and heard my cry.
He lifted me out of the pit of destruction,
out of the sticky mud.
He stood me on a rock
and made my feet steady.
He put a new song in my mouth,
a song of praise to our God.
Many people will see this and worship him.
Then they will trust the Lord.”
Psalm 40:1-3
Thank you for sharing.
God bless you.
Pamela says
Magnificent perspective, Jan. Thank you for taking me to the Divine Physician. And to His Word.
Alia Joy says
The Psalms are a balm for my soul. The Psalmists understood what it was to lament and grieve and hope with honesty.
Lydia says
Thank you for sharing your heart today! I truly enjoy the writings you bring. You are blessed with a talent that many don’t have, a talent with words and description-you make it come alive as if we are there with you in those moments you are describing. God bless you as you serve Him with the Gifts and Abilities He has bestowed upon you. Thank you for your faithfulness, even when it is hard! Keep on Keeping on!
Alia Joy says
This is so kind. To borrow the phrasing of Eric Liddell, Olympic runner and missionary, “God made me fast, and when I run, I feel His pleasure.” I hold the same gratefulness. God made me a writer, and when I write, I feel God’s pleasure. Thanks for reading!
Ellen says
Alia Joy, God is with you every moment. He delights in you and calls you his girl. You are precious in His sight.
It sounds like you and your husband are a great team. You love each other and show that love in action. What a beautiful example for your children.
Keep taking that one breath at a time. You can do all things through God who gives you strength. ❤️
Alia Joy says
Yes, by God’s grace, we will celebrate 22 years in May!
Beth Williams says
Alia,
It’s so easy to have a pity party & ask God why me? Why must I suffer so? God in His infinite wisdom has plans for all of us. We will never understand His plans until we reach Heaven. God will reward you for being faithful even in the midst of health issues & other losses. James 1:12 12 Happy are those who remain faithful under trials, because when they succeed in passing such a test, they will receive as their reward the life which God has promised to those who love him. Losing things, especially time with family in good health, is hard to deal with. I recently lost my last iguana (Tiny). It was hard for me at first, but now I know it was his time to go. He was old. I still miss him, though & his brother big IG who died years earlier. We must try to find the good in each day. Praising God for you amazing husband who loves you through it all. You are a gift to your family. Showing them the staying power of faith.
Blessings 🙂
Alia Joy says
Thanks for sharing, I’m sorry for your loss.
Nancy says
Beautifully written, Alia. Like poetry to my soul. Your words, your life, always touch my heart in a deep and special way. Giving thanks for Josh. Giving thanks for the beauty around you, and for the little yellow warbler you held.. Your writing is a gift to us.
Alia Joy says
Thank you so much, Nancy, and thank you for joining me here and reading.
Irene says
Alia, I have put you on my morning prayer list. Alia Joy from (In) courage. I pray every day that you will have your joy. I have my “down days”, but nothing like you describe. Or at least rarely those. I pray that you will find your joy. Often. Many moments and days. My heart aches for you. It sounds like your husband is a “keeper”. May he be blessed greatly!
Alia Joy says
So thoughtful. Thank you! I will tell you, not one prayer has ever been wasted on me, I’ve needed them all.
Calvonia Radford says
As I read your transparent story of hearing, then seeing the bird. Trying to save his life, breathing each breath as though you were breathing for him, I envisioned you. You are fighting for your life in oh so many ways. Yet, God has you wrapped in a fortress, speaking “breathe” to you. The God who breathed into man the breathe of life. I feel your impactful writing comes from him in those times of solitude, looking out the window as the world seems to pass you by. So today, I name you “blessed”. Blessed by God. Blessed with a wonderfully supportive and understanding husband. Blessed with children who will bring you a dying bird and “breathe” hopeful breathes with you. Blessed to be a blessing to us.
Kelly G says
What a beautiful blessing! I think you must be a writer, too. I am receiving those words for myself today ♥
Alia Joy says
I am a woman, highly blessed. This is true. It’s never not been true, even when I’ve struggled so thank you for this.
Loretta says
I feel you!!! My daughter, now 44, has had asthma since she was 6 months old. My nights were spent half sleeping and listening for her wheezing which would send us to ER.
Although her episodes are fewer and farther between, I still go through the same sense of worry when she gets a cold or her allergies kick up.
My prayer for you is that you never let go of that knowledge that no matter what (the better or worse), those that love you most, love you best. God our father, Christ our Savior, family, and best friends.
Bless you dear sister
Loretta
Alia Joy says
Thank you!
Heather P. says
Alia,
Your writing is always beautiful and inspirational. Thank you for being so open and honest with us.
Alia Joy says
So kind, thanks for reading!
kate valley says
Alia,
I too have asthma. I also have anxiety and depression “seasons” that wan and wave. I mourn with you the loss of the yellow bird. Birds have recently become a solace for me. I enjoy them all, but the hummingbirds are catching my attention more these days. Their colors are ever changing in the light and they flight is so gentle and fierce all at once. I was at my cousins house not too long ago and she has a lovely deck in the back that houses a couple of feeders. We just came in from a lunch and I walked to the deck. There on the ground of it was a lovely hummer, just laying there with it’s head down. My heart thumped in fear of what was the probable. My eyes squinted until I saw the tiniest of flutters…it’s heart was still beating! I called to my cousin and she took a white cloth out and slid open the door. Yes! It was truly still alive! It tried to fly, but seems stuck. Now we knew why it’s head was down. The little hummer got it’s beak stuck in the wood! Oh, my how we smiled and laughed! As soon as it was free it buzzed up into the near tree. It say for a little bit and then buzzed off into the neighborhood. I will never forget that. It was such a blessing to see that God took care of even the littlest of creatures. He WILL take care of me. He WILL let me breathe with the help of my albuterol inhaler and He WILL be beside me when I am in the “sad”. Breathe. Pray. Rejoice. Praise Him. I pray you are comforted with his embrace as you continue your journey in this lovely life we have. Up or down, wane or wax, high or low, breathing or sorta breathing…He is so good! Thank you so much for helping me see your visions and sharing your life.
Alia Joy says
Have you ever read writer Brian Doyle’s Joyas Voladoras? It’s often called his hummingbird essay. If you google Brian Doyle hummingbird, it should pop up and you can read it for free. It’s one of my favorite pieces of writing and I’ve probably read it over a dozen times since it was published. Thought you might enjoy it!
Jennifer Anne says
You will never know how much your blogs inspire me. You are put into a bed of pain with incredible gifts. God bless you!!
Jenn Zatopek says
I love this essay. My husband is a bit like yours—-he takes such good care of me and shows me through his actions. Tears came to my eyes when I read this the first time. God loves us and delights in us! It’s good to stand in that together.
Angie says
I read this some time ago and have kept it on my browser as it is so inspiring. You struggle so bravely. Praying that your mind and body is at rest throughout the course of this pandemic and that you emerge from it in better health than you could ever imagine. Glad you got a break away 🙂