This year was horrible.

I typically prefer to blog about my politics and the way I see those ideals affect daily life in subjective ways, but last year it all came a little too close to home. We saw a year as a country of using children as tools to punish their fearful parents seeking a better life, of doubting rape victims and engaging rape culture, of gun violence and vitriol over the debate that stems from that. We saw pedophiles and white supremacists openly running for office with backing. We saw more innocent black men killed due to misperception and ignorance. We witnessed a lack of humanity.

When I reflect on what the world saw and endured last year, I feel small for my worries and troubles. There will always be someone who has it worse, and someone who has it better. For us last year was difficult and for someone like me, processing that strain helps alleviate it.

In January of last year Ryan’s left foot had an infected callous that quit responding to antibiotics. He had an amputation after the failed course of treatment and returned to work about two and a half weeks later. It was stressful and we met our in network deductible within the first month of the year, but we got out relatively unscathed.

The beginning of March, we were shocked to learn that we had a baby on the way. We had discussed having three but it was still up in the air until that little positive test (taken with a dear friend, not Ryan, because I was SO SURE it was negative) said otherwise. We made a plan about configuring rooms, buying a new car, and wondered who this new person would be.

In April we lost my mother in law, Susan. After months of antibiotics and an upper respiratory infection that wouldn’t bow to treatment we were all shocked when we lost her. From the day we met to the day we lost her I had and will always have nothing but love and respect for the woman who raised my husband to be the man he is today. When we moved to Boone, I knew no one, all of Ryan’s friends shared his same weird schedule, and Susan became my best friend. We bought groceries together, ran errands, she watched the boys many nights while I made dinner for everyone. She made the transition away from my own mother bearable and I loved the added closeness we had from those days. Loch and Griffin knew and loved their Nana intensely. Losing her changed our world in a cruel way.

The spring brought our sweet niece Murphy Jane and summer we spent in Boone instead of our usual trek to Florida. The boys went to summer camps, we took our first family vacation (relieved and excited Ryan was able to come with us for once), and slowly the debilitating and borderline dangerous nausea and vomiting I had experienced from the third week of pregnancy on slowly started to wane. We bought backpacks, school supplies, and waited for both of our boys to begin their first years of school. Griffin in preschool, Loch in kindergarten.

Just as we had acclimated to our new schedule and things were starting to fall into a routine Ryan suffered another injury to his foot chasing Griffin. Wary of the last injury, he was careful with this one but once again it just didn’t respond the way it should have to treatment. We’re now on the path to figuring out ‘why’ but at the time there were just a lot of unanswered questions and things like ‘eight weeks non weight bearing’ being thrown around and panicking me. First worried about my husband and his health and then worried about our family and what we would do, knowing we didn’t have short term disability insurance or anything comparable. We held our breath for days until Ryan had surgery so we knew more. His employer assured us we were all in this together and would find a way forward when he called to tell them it would be an additional six weeks before he could return. The series of events after that were a spiral of anxiety. Promises to pay him, refusal to pay him at all, multiple cancelled meetings to explore our options, suggestions to fraudulently file for unemployment, then payment with the promise of another month’s pay and contract when he returned. All the while, my prenatal health was reflected by the uncertainty with peaks and dips in my blood pressure.

The uncertainty about everything was the worst part of this period. The inability to get definite answers both about our baby and Ryan’s job. No one was sure what would happen with Larkin’s pregnancy in terms of her arrival and we learned we had to be cautious in our financial security. We understood the restaurant is small, his salary a substantial part of their operating cost. Had they met with us or told us they weren’t sure how to handle this it would have been so much more navigable. They were never preemptory, always reactionary. By waiting until the day of each time they refused to pay him, it put added pressure on the situation because we had already budgeted accordingly. Each time I had to scramble to figure out what our plan was, my body responded negatively. It was the worst kind of cycle.

Finally, it was October. I went for one of my last non stress tests and only saw the nursing staff, so I was shocked when they called a few hours later to bump my induction date up to a week and a half away instead of three and a half weeks away. Ryan was in a menu planning meeting and I wanted to make sure he wasn’t disturbed since there’s not much a chef CAN do when they can’t be on their feet. I wanted his employers to know we took his time there seriously. I called my mom, always a reassurance, and by the time Ryan left his meeting we had a rough plan and I was feeling more confident as I drove to pick up my boys in our new (to us) minivan we purchased mere days before. The next few days were a blur of furniture assembly, clothes sorting, baby showers, and excited, nervous energy.

October 16 I was admitted to the hospital for induction. It was a celebratory day just like it had been with my boys, though Larkin took her time more than they did. The majority of my labor was easy and actually enjoyable, I even received a text from Ryan’s employer wishing us well ‘Good luck today momma! Welcome Baby Larkin!’. The text relaxed me and buoyed my spirits, we had a new baby on the way and soon life would resume normalcy. The ease and relief ended when I was ready for the epidural and seven failed attempts eventually resulted in my blood pressure bottoming out and a scary few hours of trying to keep us out of surgery. My mom and sister were tense and worried when two hours after they left for me to get my epidural they still weren’t being allowed back in. Finally just after six o’clock Larkin Ella Fowler made her debut. She was and is completely perfect, beautiful, and the one joyous event our family had this year. We were all blissed out over our new baby and looking forward to what was coming next.

The following day Ryan went to see his surgeon and was released. We were so excited he could return to work and our lives could resume some semblance of routine. At this juncture, we would have accepted mundane over extraordinary. Ryan went to his appointment, called to tell me he was released, then walked into my hospital room an hour later with tears in his eyes – ‘they let me go’ – the first words out of his mouth. I had an epidural headache and was in screaming pain trying to painfully nurse my tongue tied newborn while it felt like everything was crumbling around us. Five years. He had been there five years and doubled his starting salary. We never imagined an injury would affect his job security. There is no panic like the panic of figuring out how you’re going to live when you have a brand new baby and a husband fresh off recovery from a major event, with no income. Our baby was twenty seven hours old. We are so fortunate that our community embraced us and has continued to. I refused to let go of any of the joy from my last baby. Ryan found something new quickly, I reworked our budget, trimmed as much as I could, and we started to rebuild.

The beginning of November Ryan started his new job and I started to figure out how make life work with a six year old, almost three year old, and newborn. We had a new schedule, new days off, and during those few weeks both boys had surgery – Griffin had tubes placed and Loch had his tonsils and adenoids removed. On the heels of Loch’s tonsil recovery after Thanksgiving, Ryan’s leg started swelling again.

He went back to the doctor, right away. They prescribed more antibiotics and told him to stay off of it as much as possible. Easier said than done with three children six and under, and a job that requires it. So for the next two weeks or so, unless he was at work we made sure he was off of it. This has been trying at best while adjusting to a new baby, but we were in survival mode. I wouldn’t even be released to be able to work for several weeks and he had to work for us to live. Mid December, the day of December graduation at ASU Ryan called me in the middle of a double shift. ‘I can’t keep going, I’m so sorry I let you guys down, but I can’t.’ I told him to stop apologizing and get to the ER, but mostly that I loved him.

I got the kids ready and met Ira (my father in law, and saint during all of this) at the ER. Nothing was going to be revealed that night aside from Ryan needing another surgery. Ira kept the boys for a sleepover and I was back at the hospital the next day to meet Ryan as he came out of surgery. This time, it was with the declaration that we would need to see specialists, have autoimmune testing done, see a neurologist to diagnose the neuropathy more effectively, oh, and that he wouldn’t be able to return to work until April. I think somewhere in this conversation my brain folded. I couldn’t figure this out, I couldn’t fix it, there was no where else to go with it, I had exhausted my options. I prayed, and I cried, and I called my mom, sister, and friends about a hundred times with updates that didn’t feel like updates. The following day we found out Ryan wouldn’t be able to travel with us for Christmas. He insisted the boys spend Christmas having fun with my family, so he stayed home. We had a great Christmas, but of course it wasn’t the same.

So, at the start of a new year I don’t care about any of the normal things I care about on this day. I don’t care about the baby weight still stuck to my hips, I don’t care if we have an overflowing hamper, I don’t care if Griffin ever decides he wants to ditch the diapers. I just want peace. I want a moment of peace. But wanting it only for myself because I had a hard year isn’t enough. This year has not beaten me, it has not made me less empathetic, it has not made me forget that the scale of tragedy I feel is different based on my reality.

The solace I’ve found in my children, makes me commit myself to ensuring all families find that refuge in one another. The devastation I’ve felt at our lack of options has decided my level of involvement in lobbying for candidates that espouse reform of labor laws. The uncertainty I’ve felt will fuel my dedication to push for fiscal solutions for students, who should not have the option of uncertainty or insurmountable debt. This is why you can’t separate politics from who you are as a person. This is why it matters. This is why I vote. This is why I won’t be quiet and why I won’t let my fear of embarrassment or vulnerability stop me from sharing what drives me and lauding the people who have made it possible by loving us when life seemed bleak. I have allies, advocates, community, family, a college education, and had a comfortable income before these events. I cannot imagine the solitude and unwavering dread people without that feel every day, but I will use it to motivate myself.