We milk in two groups.
I am heavy with child.
The new barn is almost ready.
The summer days are warm, and I am restless.
I have lost one child.
I am resting each moment in grace.
My farmer is restless.
There is much work to be done.
The details of the impending move to the new milking parlor
fill his mind.
Will it work?
The success of the new depends on the swiftness of the move
of the old.
A date is set.
The change; imminent.
It is a stressful time.
All my farmer has ever known, 25 years of milking in the
same barn,
is coming to an end.
The move takes over 18 hours.
My farmer is up for more than 36 hours before he
rests.
We successfully transfer from a tie stall milking barn to a
milking parlor.
My farmer is exhausted.
Two weeks later we pile on more change as we welcome Elijah
Todd Davis
weighing 9 lbs 1 oz at 4:17 pm.
The days move to months and winter comes with all its
Vermont fury.
The difficulties of a new milking system take their
toll.
The weight; unbearable.
My farmer begins the steep decline to discouragement.
Being the dutiful wife I am, I encourage him to pray
more.
To focus on the positive.
We dance this dance.
Me the cheerleader, teaching, cleaning,
taking care of a new baby and a step daughter.
The cheering falls flat.
I receive a call at work.
I meet my
mother-in-law at the doctor’s office.
Something is wrong with my dear farmer.
In my heart I knew.
But no words could explain.
Depression enters my everyday vocabulary.
A name.
A disease.
Little understood.
The battle begins.
This pillar of a man.
Lover of God.
Student of Scriptures.
My encourager.
Is depressed.
A woman from our church who has
lived with depression as her
companion brings me a
video.
It changes my life.
It explains the physiological
effects of depression on the brain.
My farmer and I, together, begin
the ascent out of the pit.
We seek medical attention.
We pray.
We ask hard questions.
I am scared.
I have a step daughter and a
7-month old.
I am teaching, and there is a farm
to run.
Depression is not a household
word.
There is a stigma attached.
I vow to educate.
I pray for wisdom.
Time marches on.
Eighteen years later we wake in
the middle of the night.
We have visitors.
They are not the kind of visitors you want to have.
They didn't
bring a gift.
They brought bad news and pain.
Our beloved
first born son had taken his final drive.
Elijah went
home to be with the LORD at about 12:30 am July 28, 2013.
He was not yet
eighteen. He had just graduated.
The journey of grieving began.
Less than two months later as the
waves of pain threaten to overcome,
we receive the diagnosis that my
farmer has cancer.
The world continues to spin
without our son.
With cancer now part of our
vocabulary.
The winter hits with a vengeance.
Radiation and chemotherapy expand
our vocabulary.
Their effects leave my farmer
heading toward the slippery slope.
The relentlessness of winter, the
deep agony of grief,
the weight of the farm push my
farmer under.
It's no wonder.
The lover of God,
Student of scriptures,
Succumbs once again to the fiery
effects of the joy thief.
As the symptoms rear their ugly
head, my farmer recognizes them.
We cry to the Lord for relief.
There is none in sight.
The weight of this world begins to
crush.
Despair.
The tool of the enemy.
My role becomes critical.
I need to remember
Depression is masking who my
farmer really is.
The joy thief knows no bounds.
I push aside my grief.
I throw my needs to the feet of
Jesus.
I fight for my farmer.
I look past the discouragement.
I call the doctor and make an
appointment.
He seeks help.
We manage slowly each day to find
peace.
There is hope.
A glimmer.
It takes weeks of waiting for the
medicine to begin to take effect.
Weeks of praying and interceding
for my farmer.
Changes in doses of medicine.
This disease is not for the faint
of heart.
We are spent from the process.
Yet we begin to see progress.
After three months, there are feet
on solid ground.
There is a twinkle in my farmer’s
eye.
He cracks a joke.
I know we have turned the corner.
For how long?
I do not know.
We will take what we have and live
in gratitude.
There is hope for the depressed.
Hope exists because of Jesus.
Hope exists because there is
wisdom and understanding in this area.
The recipe is different for each
person.
But there is hope.
As we navigate appropriate doses
of medicine,
we also have conversations of what
the triggers of this disease may be.
We search for ways to avoid the
descent into the pit again.
Winter looms.
The Northeast is dark.
Farming is challenging.
We are still grieving.
Hard days may be ahead.
We will forge through.
Keeping careful watch.
Diligence.
Trusting in Christ.
Laying it all down.
A teacher turned
home-school mom, Tammy Lynne Davis is a lover of God, farm wife, and mom trying
to find her way while one son resides with the King of Kings. Originally a Rhode
Island native and now living in Vermont, she and her farmer own and operate one
of two dairy farms left in their town. They walk by grace as they put one foot
in front of the other toward the cross. Together they seek direction after
their 17-year-old son was called home to Glory after a single car accident and
then three months later her farmer was diagnosed with a rare form of cancer.
Her journey through this life can be found at www.farmingoncilleyhill.blogspot.com.
Connect with Tammy on twitter @DavisfarmTammy.
Thanks, Tammy, for sharing your family’s journey
with grief and depression. Also, many thanks to Katy for sharing yesterday about
her journey with depression and bipolar. It’s the willingness to share openly
and transparently about mental illness that helps erase the stigma and educate
others. If you’re reading this and suffering with depression, please don’t
hesitate to seek medical and spiritual help. Suffering in silence doesn’t make
it better. If you’d like prayer, please leave a comment or email me
confidential requests. I’d love to pray for you!
God bless,
Laura
“Rustic Vermont” photo courtesy
of EA/Freedigitalphotos.net
“Dawn” photo courtesy of
dan/Freedigitalphotos.net
“Man Walking in Snow” photo
courtesy of Maggie Smith/Freedigitalphotos.net
I’m excited to
announce the launch of my quarterly newsletter next month entitled “So You Want
To Be Encouraged!” In the inaugural edition, I’ll share my exciting publishing
news, as well as give away a copy of one of master wreath maker Nancy
Alexander’s books on wreath making, just in time for the holidays. To be
eligible for the drawing to win her book, you simply have to be a newsletter subscriber.
The subscription box is at the top right-hand side of this blog.
Thanks for sharing, ladies.
ReplyDeleteGod bless you both
Thank you. We can all share in each other's journey.
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