We Need Your Help, Please

Do you remember that feeling you got when you'd walk down the stairs to the basement with the lights off as a kid? The fear would build in your stomach. You could literally feel the knots tightening with each step. You moved so slowly, careful with each step, afraid of what might grab you or that you'd fall if misjudged the landing. But most of all you feared what lived at the bottom of those stairs, waiting to attack when you fell. It could only be a horrible beast that lived there because the sounds that came from basement, the cobwebs in the corners, the cold hard floor, could only be home to a monster, just waiting to attack some kid sent down to grab a folding chair. That fear would take a hold on you and just squeeze. Do you remember the tightening, the slight nausea?

We live there--in that dark place, full of fear, on a downward staircase. The only difference is that we don't know where we're going, how long the staircase is, the size of the stairs (which always change) and whether there is a landing or only a hole at the bottom. We can't even tell whether the next step will be small or a giant tumble down. Will there be a landing? When there is a landing, how far does it go before we start to head down again?

I think we were trudging along a landing for a while. Or were we simply walking down regularly spaced steps? Either way, we were in a safer space for awhile. We may still be in that safe space, but I don't know. Everything is so uncertain. It seems like there has been a fall, but maybe I've been falling all along and I don't know what normalcy feels like any more.

Forgive me for mixing metaphors, but after 10.5 years of treading water, trying desperately to keep ourselves from drowning, we're tired. Each time we take a tumble, we have to expend more energy to stay alive, but we don't have any more. Neither does Izzy.

She is so tired--exhausted. If you caught my post last weekend, you'll know how exhausted she is. She is afraid of that exhaustion. She doesn't want to admit that she is in frequent pain. She doesn't want us to know how bad she feels all of the time because she doesn't want us to worry as much as she worries. Of course, that makes us worry all the more.

No matter what you see in the pictures; no matter how good she looks in person, behind Izzy's smile is an exhausted, sick child. She tires easily. She recovers very slowly. Driving is miserable for her. She doesn't have the stamina to think of games, but she loves to play. She wants visitors, but does not know how to entertain any longer because she doesn't have the energy that most kids want to use for playing. She misses being involved.

As Izzy slows down more, she gets so much sadder because she feels she is not fun. She wants people, but doesn't know how to ask and she doesn't know what to do. So, I'm asking now. I know it is scary to join us on our downward staircase, but will you join us? Izzy is going to be home a lot this summer. Phin has almost 4 weeks of camp away from home. Izzy will be lonely. Will you visit her? Will you come play a couple of board games or watch a movie with her? Will you have a picnic? Dale and I need to work when we are home, but we would love for you to spend some time with Izzy. Izzy would love it. You can read together or build a blanket fort. She loves baking. Our house is open (not necessarily neat and clean, but available). Izzy can't drive. Izzy doesn't have the energy for hours of fun, but she needs to engage. If we don't find a way to get Izzy some connection to the rest of the world this summer, she is going to be left on the dark, scary downward climb alone a lot. We will do our best, but we don't have enough hours in the day. We need help. Please, will you visit our girl?