It’s been a time. Some days have felt like a week.
It’s really over, Christmas, and the house has never felt emptier. The only thing to do is clean it and trust that in emptying it, it will fill again.
I may have made a miscalculation in traveling to St. Louis this weekend, arriving the same time as the storm, the worst one in forty years. But it was the first weekend since her intake and I would not miss the chance to see her. I got stuck twice, and twice, people came out of nowhere to push my car further up the hill until I made it to the treatment center. We had an hour together, ran out of things to say, held each other in a corner of the day room. All the kids were having to camp out there at the treatment center instead of taking the van to their residence because the danger on the road was too great. Mostly girls, they were tucked up together in groups, huddled around their small screens, or talking on the phone with loved ones, some of them had feeding tubes worn casually taped to their cheek. I could not stop thinking about the novel “Never Let Me Go” by Kazua Ishiguro and the harvesting clinic and that image made me ill to my stomach, and still days later I cannot shake it. I had to head back to the hotel, a close call at the bottom of a hill when I could not stop my car at the red light, the cross traffic unable to stop either. A fresh round of snow starting in the morning sent me back to Louisville without seeing her again because I knew I would never make it back up those hills for the afternoon visiting hours. I drove home without being able to tell her that I was leaving.
Saturday night back in Louisville a late phone call from the girl. I’ve worked very hard to become someone who embraces solitude, who at the end of hard days can sleep without the arms of love wrapped tight. But I’m not there yet.
The grace of friendship.
The week begins again. Rehearsals begin too for Mary Poppins. Over 80 children in the cast. I will not want for things to do, I will not want for company. And Jess is better, medically she is better already, and emotionally she has come through those dark days, for now anyway. Grateful, grateful for the cheerful FaceTime just now, Jess standing on her head, her new friends jumping into the frame, smiling and laughing, feeding tubes and all. Sweet children in an anxious world.
Loren, you are doing the best that you can, and so is Jess. This disease is insidious…I went through it with my niece for many years ago….she is near 50 now. One day at a time, that’s what it takes. P,ease know that many people are supporting and praying (in their own way) for both of you. Hold tight…big hugs, Marty
Comment by Marty Jones
January 15, 2019 @ 10:53 pm
Dear Loren
I have been reading your blogs faithfully and am in such awe of your talent, you are a true multi-faceted force of nature my friend. I cant imagine what you are going through and my heart aches for both you and Jess, but I know you are doing what needs to be done, to find healing and hope for your daughter. I keep you both in my thoughts and prayers nightly. I have a candle that I light for you both, envoking; love, light, and strength.
With love,
Tish
Comment by Letitia Usher
January 15, 2019 @ 11:34 pm
Lorelei, my mama’s heart aches to read this, and is reaching out towards yours. Don’t know exactly what Jess is going through, but I do know what it’s like to be the mother of a most beloved only daughter; my girl is my whole heart too and when she suffers, I am in agony. And while I shuddered to read about your drive through the snowstorm, I would’ve done the same thing, without hesitation. Clearly angels were accompanying you. I have a bit of a feeling for the inner experience of having an eating disorder from my own life (perhaps you will remember…) and it’s so messed up. The biggest mind fuck ever. I’m so sorry for your suffering. I’m so sorry for her suffering. Am holding you both in the brightest light and warmth I can conjure. Hang in. Love you.
xoxo Jillian
The Fox at Dawn 
Loren, you are doing the best that you can, and so is Jess. This disease is insidious…I went through it with my niece for many years ago….she is near 50 now. One day at a time, that’s what it takes. P,ease know that many people are supporting and praying (in their own way) for both of you. Hold tight…big hugs, Marty
Comment by Marty Jones January 15, 2019 @ 10:53 pmDear Loren
Comment by Letitia Usher January 15, 2019 @ 11:34 pmI have been reading your blogs faithfully and am in such awe of your talent, you are a true multi-faceted force of nature my friend. I cant imagine what you are going through and my heart aches for both you and Jess, but I know you are doing what needs to be done, to find healing and hope for your daughter. I keep you both in my thoughts and prayers nightly. I have a candle that I light for you both, envoking; love, light, and strength.
With love,
Tish
Oh Tish- thank you! I will let Jess know, it will make her feel good.
Comment by Loren Crawford January 16, 2019 @ 5:44 amLorelei, my mama’s heart aches to read this, and is reaching out towards yours. Don’t know exactly what Jess is going through, but I do know what it’s like to be the mother of a most beloved only daughter; my girl is my whole heart too and when she suffers, I am in agony. And while I shuddered to read about your drive through the snowstorm, I would’ve done the same thing, without hesitation. Clearly angels were accompanying you. I have a bit of a feeling for the inner experience of having an eating disorder from my own life (perhaps you will remember…) and it’s so messed up. The biggest mind fuck ever. I’m so sorry for your suffering. I’m so sorry for her suffering. Am holding you both in the brightest light and warmth I can conjure. Hang in. Love you.
Comment by Jillian Hanson January 16, 2019 @ 7:53 amxoxo Jillian
Thank you sweet friend. You’re absolutely right- it’s a big mind fuck. Up is down, right is left, night is day. Hard work to right it all again.
Comment by Loren Crawford January 16, 2019 @ 6:08 pm