The Time Has Come to Talk . . . of Wibbies & Icebergs

I’ve noticed a tendency in my life—when I’m facing overwhelming trials, I avoid keeping a journal. For example, during the two years following my father’s death, there is no record of how I survived. Looking back, I now wish I would’ve made an attempt at keeping even a small journal. However, there are other things that I did write: poetry, songs, and my first attempt at writing a novel. Those pages contain snippets of how I was feeling and items that helped me endure.

I found that on the nights I couldn’t sleep, it helped to write out everything I was feeling. Then I would shred those pages and throw it all away. I didn’t understand it at the time, but I was doing my own form of therapy following an extremely traumatic episode in my life. I was, in essence, getting rid of toxic emotions that were tearing me apart following Dad’s suicide. 

It worked! Writing has always been an outlet for me. I feel a sense of calming peace when I write. And I feel like I have been guided somewhat on what to write, after I get rid of “the wibbies.” (A family term that means something scary.) 

This past year has been filled with “wibbies.” Lots of change, serious illness, parental decline, earthquakes, weird weather, and heartrending trials within our family. And we won’t even go into the daily tragedies we have witnessed on the news. There are days when I feel like I’ve been strapped to the front of the Titanic just as it hit the iceberg. But there have also been numerous tender mercies that have kept us all going. 

Probably one of the most challenging items I’ve dealt with this past year was my mother’s serious illness the end of April. For some strange reason that we’re still trying to figure out, her electrolytes plummeted dangerously low. Her condition mimicked a stroke. She went from being a fairly vibrant character, to someone who couldn’t walk or talk. We have spent months helping her regain a sense of self, and to relearn skills most of us take for granted, like using a TV remote, or telephone. 

My mother has always been a fighter, and she has, for the most part, bounced back from this year’s challenging “wibbie.” Since I’m the offspring that lives the closest, (I only live 4 miles away) I’ve been the one to primarily help Mom through this adventure. My siblings all rallied when everything hit the fan, but eventually, they had to return to their own adventures at their respective homes. Shortly after Mom was released from the hospital, she came to stay with Kennon and I for a few weeks until we felt like she could return to her apartment, with some assistance. I’ve made countless trips from our abode to Mom’s apartment on an almost daily basis the past few months to help in any way that I could. And it has worked! She is now pretty much back to her independent self—with just a glitch here and there. 

So the past few months have been a bit of a blur—and there were other character building moments going on at the same time—enough that most of us have felt like we’ve faced one continuous emotional tsunami. Can I just say that 2017 will not be one of my favorite years? And, true to form, I have not kept a record . . . at all. There is no new poetry, no new songs—but there are a handful of blog posts, and (drumroll please) two new manuscripts that I have tinkered with inbetween all of the fun. We’ll see what happens with that.

The thing I have noticed in my life—there does seem to be a plan. Even when life becomes complicated and my heart feels shredded—the pieces begin to fit together to form a picture I would have never guessed existed. I surmise this is where faith comes into play. I’ll admit, when one is strapped to the front of the Titanic and an iceberg is imminent, it’s a little bit difficult to believe that somehow, things will be okay. The “wibbies” fill us with fear and doubt becomes a real adversary. 

There is a scene in one of the “Raiders of the Lost Ark” movies where the main character is frozen in place. He is inside of a cavern and the item he is seeking lies across an impressive gorge. As he is thinking there is no way possible for him to cross to where this item exists, he is told that he must have faith—he must believe there is a way to accomplish this task. Eventually he gathers his courage and takes a step into what appears to be thin air. And as those of you know who have seen this movie, there is a sturdy path that only becomes visible after you take that first important step. 

That image has come to mind a lot this past year. I’ve found myself facing a few impressive “wibbies,” and it has been scary to take that step into what appears to be “air.” What I have found . . . again . . . is that there is a path through daunting obstacles. Faith is crucial to possess these days, and it truly is the simple things that give us the strength to carry on: prayer, searching the scriptures, meditating on what really matters, and taking care of our physical selves. (Yes, I actually said that last item. I’m not always a good example of that, but I’m striving to do better. Sleep is starting to become my friend again, exercise is important, and thanks to this new impressive insulin pump, my blood sugar levels are even better than before. Now to kick the pop habit . . .)

Back to my original topic: I may not have kept a journal this past year, but I have kept journals during other adventures in my life. There are enough of those that my posterity will ponder what to do with all of those volumes. I’m sure some of it will be discarded as silliness. But hopefully in some of what I have written, there will be snippets that will make sense and possibly even help when they are facing a difficult time. And when there appears to be a gap or two, I hope they’ll understand that there have been moments that were too difficult to record. Those are the times when they may have to search some of my poetry, songs, blog posts, and books to read between the lines and understand the lessons I learned when “wibbies” surfaced and icebergs seemed too close.