gina prescott

My mom, swamped with taking care of four other children had promised that I could have a birthday party, as long as I planned it myself. I fretted the entire summer over details, watching old reruns of Martha Stewart hoping to gain some helpful tips for the perfect party (I was a strange child).

I decided on a Hawaiian Hello Kitty theme. Hello Kitty hadn’t reached its glory quite yet, but I was obsessed with it from visits to the international district with my grandma up in Seattle. I settled on Hawaiian because my birthday is in August and it felt like a nice fit. We would go swimming at a local pool, have pineapple upside down cake, and have hula skirts as party favors. I selected streamers and planned out the rest of the food. I was so excited.

The thing about having your birthday at the end of August, is that you never know what the weather will look like. It could still be 100 degrees or blustery and windy, preparing for colder Fall weather.

The part would be held on my birthday and I prepped all morning, helping my mom to make the cake and decorating the backyard with pink streamers  and hanging pineapples. The wind rolled in gray clouds and I was a little worried. Then only five of the people I had invited showed up. My heart sunk a little, in my mind there were thousands of my adoring friends flocking to celebrate me (Oh the mind of a ten year-old!). We pressed on with the party. The pool was deserted with the forecast of rain and so we enjoyed the slide on a continuous loop of no lines with rain sprinkling down. It was awesome.

We arrived back to my house and plopped in my new B*Witched cd and danced in the front yard to, “Don’t Blame it on the Weatherman.” We made a sign for all the cars that passed to honk because it was my birthday. We ate delicious cake and ran around in our hula skirts and all I remember was it ended up being so much more fun than I had expected. It ended up being more fun because it had rained.

I turned 27 on Sunday and I realized a couple of weeks before that I was holding expectations for this birthday. Turning 25 happened in the wake of James death, there was no celebrating. I was miserable and depressed. Turning 26, I was 38 weeks pregnant and the day before my birthday was stuck in the hospital because they wanted to induce. My fluid levels were low and I was wracked with anxiety and just wanted Daniel out and safe. He could have been a birthday baby, but the fluid issues resolved themselves (rather the person reading my fluid levels had mistook them for being low and they were normal the whole time) and I spent my birthday upset and anxious and disappointed. There was a lot going on and it was hard to enjoy anything.

So this past weekend I had expectations, and for a second I thought that they might be crazy or high or whatever and then I realized they were normal.

I wanted a birthday without anxiety, depression, worry, or sadness. I just wanted a happy birthday. I wanted to be surrounded by those I love and take in how grateful I am, despite the rain that has fallen in the past couple of years.

My 27th birthday was a happy one. It was a birthday that offered perspective to see that all my birthday wishes have come true.

To me, there is no better gift than that.

Went on a hike as a family this week. Max walked 3 miles! BY HIMSELF! It was awesome.

“Your story, that story that keep replaying, the interaction of your expectations and what happens, the narrative, the disappointments and the way you process it…

It’s all invented.

Ambien, the popular sleep aid, doesn’t actually help people sleep much more (in one study, it boosted sleep by 18 minutes a night). No, the reason it works is that it’s an amnesiac.

Ambien makes you forget that you didn’t get a good night’s sleep.

Because a huge side effect of sleeplessness is the invented story we tell ourselves about how tired we are. Ambien doesn’t help us sleep, it just destroys the negative story about not sleeping.

It’s all invented. It’s still real, the pain is real, the frustration is real, but the story that’s causing it all is something we made up, and something we can change. The pain is real, and so is a path to changing it.” 

It is from a book called, “What To Do When It’s Your Turn (And It’s Always Your Turn)” by Seth Godin. The quote spoke clarity to my mind and funny enough I realized I owned the book and it was sitting on the top of that stack of unpacked boxes.

The story of how that book ended up right there is kind of funny, especially considering I hadn’t even read a single page of it yet.

My husband rode to a church activity two months ago with a friend from church. As they carpooled our friend mentioned that he had bought too many copies of a new book he had been excited to read. He told Kyle a little bit about the book (nothing that he remembers…) and asked if he would want a copy. Kyle had no reason to decline a free book so he accepted a copy and brought it home. This is not a normal looking book. It kinda looks like a really fancy magazine or a really skinny coffee table book. Either way I flipped through it when he tossed it my way after coming home and then set it on our side table and didn’t think much of it until I had to read it through instagram.

I worked my way through the book the next two days and it was exactly what I needed to read and hear.

I smiled at the wonderfulness of it, the grace of it. I suppose I could chalk it up to happy circumstance, just be grateful for the occurrence.

I don’t want to do that.

There was a time in my life where every little happy thing that happened was just that, a happy thing. Nothing more, nothing special.

But not now, now I see God reaching out to me in so many different ways. At first I only saw what was right in front of me, what was obvious. I only saw what felt deserved.

Now, I see Him blessing my life and speaking to me in the smallest of ways, but ways that make a big difference in my life.

Through a book in the right place at the right time, through the affection of my children, through the words of family and friends; I hear and see Him aware of me and my needs.

His awareness of me (of US!) reminds me of His love. His goodness reminds me that He will not leave me helpless, His arms are outstretched and where we might not have faith in ourselves, He has faith in us.

He always has faith in us.

From a hike last week. He makes the best faces.

Last week the two-year anniversary of James’ passing.

I think too hard about how to phrase sentences like that. Not for anyone’s benefit but my own. “Anniversary” is ambiguous and doesn’t assume any type of celebration and “passing” is the gentlest way I can remind myself that my child died.

Obviously there is no one, correct way to approach it, to talk about it, to live with it. I have learned that no matter how many books or accounts I read, my grief is my own and I need to do what feels right for me and my family.

I have been frustrated with how difficult that can be.

Monday was actually a great day. I got a new swimming suit, went swimming and had a great time talking with a dear friend, ate at my favorite Mexican restaurant. If I picked the day out of the whole year, it would rank highly as full of sunshine and happy moments.

At the end of the day though, my heart sank. It isn’t that the day wasn’t great or that I regretted the way I approached the day, it was that two years later I am still just as confused and sad and angry about losing James and learning how to live onward.

Earlier in the week Kyle and I had attended the temple which was wonderful but felt premature. The weight of the day approaching hadn’t really hit, the questions hadn’t returned, the ache had been pushed away.

Before bed on Monday evening I realized that all I really wanted for the day was a moment of silence. Five minutes would be even better and if we are really being honest I want the whole day. A moment, a minute, a day for the world to stop moving, stop working, stop buzzing around. I wanted people to alter their plans and remember my son. I want that for all children who have been lost. For the world to stop spinning, just for a day.

Thank you to all of you who sent messages and posts of love and support. Thank you for taking a moment. Thank you to family and friends who altered their plans to support me in my grief. Thank you to those who took the time on Monday to visit his grave, to take a picture and send it to me. At the end of the day it was EXACTLY what I needed. To know that his life made someone change a moment of theirs.

Next year I have a plan and I am writing it down so that I can remember it, so that anyone who reads this can help me remember it. I want a moment of your day on July 20th of next year. A moment, a minute, a day where you do something kind, do something good, do something out of love. Let’s call it The James Effect. 

The cupcakes are for a birthday party for a certain four year-old I know. For his birthday he wanted a spider-man umbrella, a lego space-ship, and a blue cake (chocolate flavor). Happily I was able to deliver. His party tonight will be simple and fun. Down at our favorite park with friends and pizza and a surprise parachute I got off Amazon. Max has had a great day so far so I hope it will end even better.

Cold watermelon rinds for hurting gums.

 I was nursing (taking pictures and nursing! SKILLZ!). He was mad. This is what my home looks like 98% of the time. I hope Max mellows out as a four year-old. Either way I will love him, but I might go crazy.

Pulling himself up all over the place and being adorable while doing it.

If you can believe it, this child turns 4 next week. FOUR! My mind can’t comprehend it.