That, I Have Faith In

Growing up, religion was a big part of my life. My parents were Catholic so my Sundays were spent at mass and my Wednesdays at CCD, which were religious education classes. I don’t remember loving it, but as I grew older, the church would be where I could go to quiet the noises and ask whatever being might be out there to give me the strength to get through many challenges. When I moved away from my home in Chicago, I moved to an area where faith was a significant, if not predominant, part of people’s lives. I was not accustomed to speaking about Jesus or God in a social setting. In the Midwest, my experience was you didn’t talk about uncomfortable things that caused derisiveness, and to top that list was religion.

When the kids were young, Christmas became an offensive word replaced with “holiday,” and Easter egg hunts were inappropriate in any public setting. I got used to the notion that mentioning God somehow made you somewhat of a bad person and stigmatized, so I kept my faith, whatever that was, under wraps.

At the time, I was somewhat okay with it. If I want to be honest, if there is a God, I was pretty upset with him (or her) for taking my best friend and subjecting my daughter to so much suffering.

After I left Chicago (as the story continues in my second book, no spoiler alert), I moved to North Carolina. Where we lived, not only was it okay to talk about God; it was unacceptable not to use him in nearly every sentence. We were in an area that was heavily Baptist and they wore their religion and faith like a cloak, saying things like “Have a blessed day” and “Praise Jesus” as you would say “Have a good afternoon.” It was hard to get used to.

I used to shudder and almost duck and look around when people talked openly and freely about their faith, knowing that if they did that where I was from, it would certainly be frowned upon, if not worse. As odd as it was to me, I have to say, I was enthralled, and yes, perhaps jealous, that anyone could find something so comforting in their lives. They would say things like “Give it over to Jesus” or “God is steering the ship, if you have faith in him, he will protect you.” I marveled at the way that they could seemingly put their fears and anxiety on a being outside their mind, and, once more, believe that someone was looking out for them and would not “give them more than they could handle.”

I have been given way, way more than I could handle for nearly three decades, or have I not? Was I really designed to be a person who is set here to watch people I love more than myself suffer? Is my purpose on Earth destined? When I reach the pearly gates (not confident I will pass through), will it all lay out before me and I will have that ah-ha moment where it will all make sense? Will all of what I have been through, more importantly, what the people I have loved go through, not be for naught? 

After moving further South (again, no gratuitous plug to my second book), I struggled with the events that happened soon after leaving Chicago. If the loss of Colin hadn’t destroyed my faith, what happened next, certainly might have, I sought the guidance of a Priest at my children’s new church.

I didn’t know him very well and it seemed the perfect way to find some peace in all that had happened.

Therapy seemed to be fruitless.  Whatever a counselor or therapist had to say, they necessarily couldn’t make sense of the senseless suffering that I had seen around me. They offered me no comfort, no reason, no way to ease my restless soul. Since nothing they could say could put my mind at ease or calm my feelings of restlessness and anxiety, I thought perhaps someone could explain the divine to me. Why is there suffering? What comes of it? Why is it necessary, most importantly, why would a God pick on poor Tayt over, and over, and over?

What on Earth could so much suffering be for and why did it all fall on my poor Tayt, to this day barely 30 pounds, crippled, no voice, yet the sweetest and kindest spirit that I have ever known? Why her?

I would love to say he had the answers that brought it all together, that I had a moment of clarity where the skies opened, the sun came out, and the movie ended with credits and an affirmation that life is good.

Unfortunately, it didn’t. I left the consult in the same helpless state I entered. 

Over the years, since then, I am regaining my strength and my faith. I am not really sure what I believe, but I am trying to find the comfort that I feel in those people who have the resolve that life is destined, and for a reason. I want to believe that there is a higher purpose for which everything happens and that something good always comes from challenges. I want to know that those things that appear difficult, and yes, sometimes horrible when we are facing them, have a purpose. 

As my daughter goes off to school, for her first year at college, I am once again dealing with loss, not permanent, but the day-to-day that I love and will have a hard time without her around. She has been my ride-or-die for the better half of five years (or more). I am no longer working for the company I did, times are in the air, my future unwritten, another turning point in the road as Green Day would say, and I've decided that it is time to switch focus and gears to put Tayt’s art and her spirit out into the universe.

Her art is truly a miracle, and she gets better and better every day. She wakes up in the morning, gets her sketch pad, or her jewelry tools, and then spends the day creating, trying over and over, posting her jewelry to Instagram, and Facebook, working to find her way in the world and to be independent in the cyberspace since her stature, disabilities, and health will not allow her to be in the real one physically. I am committed this fall to allow the world to witness her miracle, not in a "God" way, but in a "she deserves to be heard" one.

For years, I have told her “One day we will get your art out there” but the past several years have been economically challenging, to say the least, and I have always had to throw my time and energy into what pays the bills. All of those promises have fallen by the wayside and haunt my thoughts, keeping me up at night. Now, there is something in my soul telling me that life is not endless, hers, mine, and when this ride is over, I want no regrets on either of our behalves, that we didn’t do all we could to realize her dream.

Tayt has thousands, truly, of paintings sketches, watercolor paintings, and pieces of jewelry. Unfortunately, our house has been overcome and her art is being destroyed by humidity, nowhere to put it, and storage issues. Everywhere I look is a reminder that she deserves my time and focus.

Since I didn’t have the capital or resources to find buy frames for her art, I decided to make them. After YouTubing how to make frames, I thought “Surely I can do this.” For anyone who really knows me, I am probably kidding myself, but I went to Facebook and found some miter saws, all I needed was a nail gun (which if you know me, sounds like a terrible idea), but I needed to for Tayt. I can do this.

As I was searching for a nail gun, my mother sauntered over. She never really just comes by casually. She walked in, sat down next to me, and nonchalantly asked me if I wanted to go to an estate sale the following day. We used to go every weekend, that was our “thing”. But, after Colin died, sale’ing (which we called it) ceased as did many things, where we would set out every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday in search of a treasure. 

Purely out of the blue, I said sure and we planned to go not-too-early, yet not-too-late. The next morning, I got my coffee, packed my mom, Tayt, and my youngest in the car and we set out. 

The estate sale was well set back from the street. The driveway to get there was aligned with trees, and although off of a busy street, you couldn’t hear the hustle and bustle, it was a haven amid chaos.

The house itself had the most beautiful shaker siding, a light yet faded pale spring green, weathered and ravaged with mildew. It was clearly from the 1800s, with small real glass windows, and old molding, but had clearly not been occupied or cared for in more than a decade or two, to be transparent, potentially three.

As we walked into the door, just to the right, there was an entire room filled with frames. When I say “filled” there were upwards of hundreds of frames all of various sizes, materials, and colors, but antique, more than I could have made with a miter saw, all ready to be reframed with Tayt’s art. I began to sift through the frames, taking the most beautiful ones - it was like being a kid in the candy store. 

As I moved from room to room, I saw more and more frames, glass-laden, beautiful, and intricate, I felt elated. It was like an adrenaline rush that had me picking and choosing with an enthusiasm I hadn't had in a long time.

I continued to pile up the frames, anxiety in my step knowing that it was going to cost me money, yet also knowing that I could never have made these beautiful frames. It would have taken me months to put them together, and the materials alone would have probably cost me way more (and potentially a finger or two). As I was feverishly moving around an old, musty, definitely mold-filled house long since abandoned, Tayt trailed behind. The humidity, mold, and dust had her stopping frequently, breathing uneasily.

I came upon a mound of costume jewelry. “Tayt, look here, there are vintage jewelry pieces that you can take apart and repurpose.” A smile came to her face as her eyes lit up. I left her there allowing her to peruse through the jewels as I returned to head upstairs, my youngest in tow.

The stairs were narrow with several floors and tight corners. On the second floor, we turned into a room and there were toys, and games, all vintage, all in good shape. Ainsley was next to me, digging through the piles of valuables not touched in decades, and she suddenly called out “Mom, they have piggy.” 

When Tayt was doing better and we could finally take her into public, just before we had her reconstructive surgery for her throat, we went to Woodfield to shop. While I was shopping with Jake for some clothes, Colin took off with Tayt, wide-eyed, never seeing a shopping store, little less a mall, and brought her into a toy store. After about thirty minutes, they returned, Tayt with a huge smile on her face hugging a pink pig stuffed animal. Although to anyone else, it would have been unremarkable, to Tayt, it was the most valuable treasure she could ever imagine.

From that day on, Tayt would find solace in that pig through hospital stays, watching Colin slip away, therapy sessions, new cities, and terrifying scares; it was piggy by her side. 20 years later, she still has piggy and he has never left her side.

Unfortunately, her challenges and difficulties have taken their toll not just on her, but also on her faithful friend. All that remains of piggy now is a stuffed head, a pathetic and missing middle section, fur worn down to nothing, no longer pink, no nose, missing eyes, but he is still a source of comfort. He has not been lost, even though Colin has.

I looked over to see that Ainsley had found piggy. Mind you, I have looked for the same pig for years, decades even. When our piggy started to unravel, I tried to introduce others, but they were never the same. I searched every toy store, second-hand store, and eBay, I went as far as to write the manufacturer. Never an answer, but I could not find the same pig after nearly twenty years of searching. All of the other stuffed pigs would find their way to the closet and eventually, the thrift store because the alternates just didn’t cut it.

In Ainsley’s hand was piggy. The original, same manufacturer, same pink brightness. This piggy appeared as if in a time warp, catapulting me to that moment when I first saw Col and Tayt come back to meet us with her best friend in new and pristine shape.

I took piggy from her and we continued to the third floor where we found even more frames. After we had gone through all of them, I had to cart them down the stairs. Tayt sat on the front doorstep, winded, obviously done with shopping, waiting on us. With piggy in hand, I gave him to Tayt and her face lit up. She had felt the same disbelief that I did when Ainsley uncovered him.

We paid for the frames, and I loaded them into the trunk and shut it while my mom, Ainsley, and Tayt pilled in. As the trunk went down, a calm came over me, I exhaled deeply, swallowed hard, and fought back tears. 

Faith.

Faith is not about doctrines, or fighting over whose version of God is real. 

There is a reason why Tayt is Tayt. There is a reason why Colin suffered. There is a reason for all that we have gone through.

Do I know what it is? No. But I don’t have to.

Colin was in that house, Tayt was meant to be at the estate sale. I was meant to walk in to see piles and piles of frames. Piggy was there, placed perfectly to give me courage, purpose, and encouragement to know that now is the time. 

I am not good at math, but I can do the math on this.

My mom randomly asked me to resume our favorite time together. We showed up to randomly see frames already complete for Tayt’s art. We randomly came across vintage jewelry for Tayt to use. We randomly uncovered piggy, having been given new life.

There is NOTHING random about what happened yesterday, as with many days before. Is it a sign, from Colin? Maybe. From God? Maybe. From the universe? Maybe.

It doesn't matter who is sending the signal. All I know is that the world needs a Tayt right now and the universe is telling me not to give up.

Tayt’s purpose is yet to be realized, and it is time that we all realize it.

Thank you for joining our journey.

You reading this, landing on my blog page, and staying with this long, long story, is not random either. Together, we can all make a difference and one tiny soul can change the world.

That, I have faith in.