Monday, June 23, 2014

Our Daughter Juliet and More Uncomfortable Grace

As you may or may not know, last year on May 10 we took our son Roger into Kindering, a center offering services for kids (ages birth to three) with developmental delays. He was 2 years, 2 months old and wasn't talking.  at his 18 month appointment I was on bed rest in my pregnancy with our daughter Juliet, so when he still wasn't talking at age 2 we took him in for testing.

That was the first day we heard the word "autism" regarding our son; he didn't fit my stereotype of autism so I really did not see it coming. My husband Jason wrote this post, Our Son Roger and Uncomfortable Grace, as our public announcement upon psychological confirmation of Roger's condition. I wrote this post, May 10, last month talking about what we have learned in the last year.

In one of my most raw posts I think I have ever published, I wrote in late August last year (I know the timeline is out of order; it will make sense why in a minute) about the ways I was processing the pain. One thing, upon re-reading the post now, that I find particularly interesting was my deep need to believe ever since May 10, 2013 that Juliet was not autistic. She seemed more aware of Roger than he was aware of other kids at her age. She engaged more and started talking a bit much earlier than Roger and without any therapy. Roger's speech therapist even noted that Juliet mimicked sounds that Roger was learning in his sessions (Juliet and I were always there with him) and she seemed semi-interested in whatever manipulative toy he was using. These are not typical behaviors on the spectrum.

But then, even at 9-10 months old, I started feeling like something was off. No, Juliet wasn't as delayed as Roger, but she also wasn't like her peers. At her 18 month appointment, in the autism screening (I think it's called the m-chat or something like that) they give, we marked over half of the warning signs. And in my gut I just knew that even though she's not like Roger, there's a very good chance Juliet would also be on the spectrum. Roger is a bit more severe of a case (a 6-7 out of 10) while still being moderately high functioning now and, hopefully, very high functioning later in life.

So, then, almost two weeks ago on June 10  I took Juliet into Kindering for her evaluation. I sat in the same room where Roger was evaluated exactly 13 months earlier, and as I answered their questions and watched Juliet be evaluated I just knew. Their preliminary results were that they see many of the markers of autism and that she qualifies for all services. But I knew long before they said anything. And I cried, because it was the same room. Like time just catapulted me back 13 months. I was more prepared than I was with Roger to hear the word autism and yet that didn't really matter.

Two days later we received her psychological evaluation results; because she's under age 2 it's a provisional diagnosis until we retest in about 6 months. But Juliet has autism, is on the spectrum.

We "won" the genetic lottery, in a sense. The statistics for a younger brother of an autistic child also being on the spectrum are 1 in 4, or 25%. For a younger sister they are 1 in 8, or 12.5%, which is to say fairly rare. Yet Juliet is definitely on the spectrum. Much of it is her lack of awareness of other children, her missing of social cues, that she doesn't imitate, her speech is behind--particularly for other girls her age--but both her receptive and expressive language are very, very behind.

It's all real. It's all happening again and it's all real.

What even to say? It is yet another paradigm shift. On the one hand, we have walked this path before and much of it is familiar. On the other hand...it is familiar. Excruciatingly, painfully, heartbreakingly familiar. I didn't even realize how much hope I had that Juliet wouldn't be autistic until that dream ended. Another twist in the road that I didn't see coming, but God did.

People say a lot that they are so glad that we are the parents of Roger and Juliet. Friends, people at church, each of the various therapists and people we have met that are working with both kids thus far, they all say the same thing. I know in part Jesus is speaking to me through them as a balm to my soul, that he has created and nurtured me as a loving Father to be a loving and nurturing mother to our kids. So much of my own painful past has been redeemed by God, and he has tenderly molded me into a mother that I know my kids are blessed to have. This is grace, unspeakable grace.

But then there is...the rest of it. The mixture of loving my kids beyond comprehension yet wishing I knew what it was like to raise a neurotypical, non-special needs child. I don't really wish I had a three year old who knew how to scream, "I hate you!" at me but then I do think that would be worth them being able to spontaneously tell me they love me, too. Roger has started repeating it back to me when I say, "I love you, Roger. Can you say, 'I love you, Mama,'?" It's beautiful and so sweet for right where he is. But it's hard not to ache with wonder at what Roger would be like without the chains of autism on his brain. For what sweet spirited, feisty Juliet would be like free from the bondage of autism.

Then there is the fear that we are genetically predispositioned for all of our children to have autism, including the ones we haven't had, Lord willing, yet. I cleave to Jesus through it, yet I hear the sneaky whisper that Jason and I are cursed and if we choose to have more children we are willfully cursing them. Even though the Holy Spirit is gracious and I don't believe the lie just hearing it is an endless stabbing of my soul.

Not to mention that I just never anticipated being a mother to special needs children. I do not resent this, because I adore Roger and Juliet and truly wouldn't change them if taking away the autism made them different people. This isn't the script I foresaw, though. I thought my difficulty as a mother would be not yelling at my children and constant repentance because I am so impatient and just want to be listened to. And it is that. It's that plus so much more that I never thought would be interwoven throughout the chapters of my book in the category of "motherhood."  I think about the murmurs of sympathy when someone mentions the exhausting grind that it is to raise a special needs child. And then the bewilderment, the, "Oh, wow, how does she even do it? Poor soul," when a mother is said to to have multiple special needs kids. And I think, "Man, that is a hard lot to be called to."

Yet that's meThat's my lot.

I'm just heavy hearted. Grieving yet moving forward. The grind is already in progress--we went from free and relaxing summer to multiple therapies multiple times a week between the two kids. The financial burden of paying for what insurance won't cover is heavy. The planning and organization I have to build into our daily lives, things like visual schedules and planning out activities and the mega-intentionality I have to utilize at every turn just to help with simple skills like drawing or pretend play, etc, is just a lot. I can be uber organized and meticulous, but I don't like it. I like to wake up and go, "What should we do today?" and see which way the wind blows. 

Plus the emotional burden on both Jason and me...how to even figure out somehow having alone time for each of us or together-alone time or resting...oy. It's honestly not even on our scope right now. Maybe it should be, but it just isn't. We don't even know where to start and while rest is good trying to figure out how to get it is so much work at this point that it feels like a burden to even think about. I fear that sounds melodramatic, but it's just the truth.

But here is our hope: Jason's and my hope for every individual in our family--now existing and any future additions--rests not in therapies nor my ability to organize and keep it all together. Our hope is in Jesus, because no matter how I feel, the truth is that he loves us. Yes, he willed this. Yes, it is still uncomfortable grace, but it is grace. It is grace that simply reveals how desperately we need him.

If you are like me, your preferred way to know how desperately you need Jesus would come snuggled up with your Bible, a hot drink (a moooooooocha for me. I cannot have them anymore. This, too, brings mourning.), a blanket, and utter quiet as you enjoy Jesus' presence.

Ha.

First of all, I can't remember the last time I sat alone, with quiet and my Bible and time to have prepared a drink beforehand. Like, literally cannot remember. Pretty sure Roger was a baby? I had a coffee date alone once last summer for a bit while a friend watched our kids. Except I ended up people watching at Starbucks because if I'm alone in public then that's what I do (while checking Facebook, let's just keep it real here). But, more importantly, my desperation for Jesus--for the Gospel of his perfect record taking the place of my sin laden one--is always found prominently in living my life. Most poignantly it is found in my need to repent of sin, which I tend to be much more comfortable with, and through suffering as an innocent, which is a consistent theme in my life and yet I am never comfortable with it. Likely this is why it recurs, as Jesus is, again, a good God of uncomfortable grace like that.

This is the scripture that was preached recently that really spoke to my heart. It is yet another balm to my soul to remind me in a fitly spoken word that God is in absolute control and I can trust him:

Now the word of the LORD came to me, saying,
“Before I formed you in the womb I knew you,
and before you were born I consecrated you;
I appointed you a prophet to the nations.”
                      Jeremiah 1:4-5 ESV

Just as God had every detail of Jeremiah's existence orchestrated and divinely willed before he was even in his mother's womb, I know he has the same providential sovereignty over my life, Jason's life, Roger's life, and Juliet's life. I can trust him. He has been faithful and tender to me my entire life, but particularly this last year Jesus has been so sweet to me. So patient and loving. So faithful to place people in my life who love me with a clearer shadow of his love than I have ever before experience. So in him alone I hope.

But let's end with the beautiful little girl that Jesus gave us. She is just the most delightful little girl and being her mother is a gift. I am thankful that when God said it was time to bring her soul into a body, my womb is where she began forming, just as God always predestined it to happen. Juliet is sweet and loves to give hugs and kisses, looooooves to laugh, loves to dance and giggle some more. Her little voice is beyond precious and as she speaks more and more my heart is enraptured with this gorgeous little girl that I am blessed to raise. When my face is near hers and she points to my nose and says, "Noooooousssse," my heart melts just as much as the moment they placed her newly born body onto my waiting chest. She has always fit snugly and perfectly into my arms, a shadow of her perfect filling of the space in my heart, one whose breadth I didn't realize until she settled in. Juliet's my mini-me and I couldn't be more grateful for the daughter Jesus gave me. So now, enjoy some pics of this little lighthouse of our family.

The moment we found out Juliet was a GIRL!!
If you haven't seen it, this is the video of the moment; 2/3 of the views on YouTube are probably me because I have watched it so many times. I LOVED finding out she was a girl.

One of my favorite photos of my pregnancy with her--look at how little Podge was!

My first photo with her. Utter bliss. Perfect fit.

Our first photo as a family of four.

Seahawks!

Juliet's first birthday party and one of  my favorite pics of our whole family!

How cute is she?

From our 5k last week. I love this little family.

The day after her official diagnosis, needing time to keep the diagnosis to ourselves
 for a few days and soak up special snuggles with my precious babe before entering the
litany of therapies that await.

Lastly, because I couldn't choose a fave, here are Juliet's newborn pics. Because sooooo sweet!

Friday, June 13, 2014

5k!

The Hagglund fam after our first 5k as a family of 4 in May.

As you may know, I had been training to run two 5ks this spring. Though health issues forced me to stop running, our family is still walking a 5k tomorrow to raise funds for Eastside Academy.

EA is our very favorite charitable cause--because it's helping students who are on their last legs. These are kids that society simply gives up on. No two kids are alike--some have been to rehab, others have simply found themselves with nowhere left to turn. Some kids have invested, loving parents desperately finding anything that can help with their child while others are functionally orphaned.

We have seen EA play a role in changing the lives of young people we love very, very much. It is our joy to raise money that helps pay for teachers, facilities, and the many bits and pieces it takes to run a school. Our favorite part is that every student gets the opportunity to hear that they need not succeed just to have a "good citizen" life; rather, they get to hear that Jesus LOVES them. Not all students become Christians but many do, and that plays a huge role in their changed lives.

So, would you consider helping us raise funds for these amazing kids and their equally amazing educators? If yes, please go here to donate:

Hagglund Family EA 5k Fundraising Page

Thank you so much!

Friday, May 16, 2014

Healthy.

This post was supposed to be entitled "Running Redemption." It was going to be about all the spiritual stuff being unearthed in my heart as I have been running. But then I saw my doctor yesterday (May 15) and found out that those 16 vials of blood drawn last week not only gave some real answers but also addressing those issues will require quite a few changes to my current lifestyle.

So, let me share with you the little bit I had already written, the jumping grounds for this post as it was originally intended:

As I've been doing this training, I just keep thinking about how I need to push harder. No matter how hard it is to breathe, or how my legs turn to lead, I have to go a little faster. I need to run a little longer. I need to achieve something just that much harder than yesterday.

I need to do more. I can't let the dream die. 

Nothing is ever good enough, because I'm afraid the moment I settle on something as having been decent then I'm done--that was the peak and everything is about to go back downhill, an increasingly lazier and fatter me hurtling toward my death from complications of morbid obesity circa age 40. 

I had an aunt dead of a massive heart attack at 42. She left her young kids motherless. This is the future I must work to avoid.

Talk about putting pressure on the moment.

It's such a redemptive thing, this running bit. It forces me to look at Jesus to ask for help discerning all the crazy in my heart. What is pressing into my weakness, to ask Jesus to help me press on past what I feel like I can't do? What is me doing more than my body is capable of, idolizing the need to feel fit, at the risk of actually harming myself? I have written so many blog posts in my head over the last two months, because I know this journey could be so helpful to others but particularly I want it to be recorded for me to read again later. I forget so easily what Jesus has done.

Well. I don't even know where to start, so I'm just praying this post makes sense, at least to myself when I inevitably read it later. I know it's "supposed" to be succinct, with clean writing, sticking to one topic. Frankly, I don't give a damn about any of that. My heart needs to get all of this out at once. For those who care, you'll read it. Those who don't, you won't read it. So be it. I just need to get this out of my head, to fill this empty white space with the words in my soul, even if there are a lot and it's jumbled and jambled into one imperfect thing. So like my life, really.

Let's do this.

I mentioned this before, but to sum up, I began seeing a nutritionist in January. January 5, to be exact. I started eating super well. No sugar, tons of leafy green and uber healthy vegetables (organic and local when possible), only certain very low sugar fruit, minimal dairy, lean protein (particularly grass fed beef and antibiotic free chicken), blah blah blah. No grain. No mochas (sadness). No bars and "healthy" prepackaged foods--not even paleo bars or Larabars except in emergencies. Careful with nuts and all the healthier stuff. Just downright awesome eating. In March I started running and ramped up to 35 minutes at a time; I was slow but I could run for 3 miles without slowing or stopping.

Ok, it's hard to tell, but I took this picture with my face all red and sweaty
after running for 10 minutes straight, heart rate averaging 160+ beats per minute,
to try and remind myself that maybe I was actually sorta working hard?
such. a. struggle. for. me. 

So, 4.5 months later and still doing all of that, I have gone from 275 pounds to 271 pounds. We tried testing food allergies. No dairy for two weeks did nada. No dairy PLUS no eggs for two weeks did nada. Plus, the eating didn't just not help me lose weight, but it also didn't address my fairly severe adrenal issues with fatigue and exhaustion. Upping my sleep from under 5 to almost 7 hours per night, plus 1-2 hour naps most days (fact: can I just say that being demanded to take a nap by health professionals is amazing? Boom!). My nutritionist recommended further work with a naturopath to figure out what was going on. So, I met with her and then had tons of blood work done last week. Yesterday I had the follow-up meeting with the results. I guess I expected to hear that it was hormonal and adrenal and this supplement and more of that food and none of this food and voila! In a few months I'd be down 10-15 pounds and, albeit at a slow pace, things would start moving in the right direction.

I was wrong.

I sat down in my doctor's office and she told me that we know exactly what's going on. There are some lesser concerns--my thyroid is a little low (but not enough to explain why I'm losing no weight), my calcium, vitamin B12, iron, vitamin D, and testosterone are all either just under or at the very low end of the acceptable ranges.I actually also might have mono. As in mononucleosis, because my monocytes are high. But my blood cells are fine so we're going to just recheck in 6 weeks when we recheck my thyroid after taking a plant-based thyroid stimulant. Just lots of little things, mostly that can be tweaked with some supplements, no biggies.

But there's a biggie. And I can give you the shocking details of the numbers, but that won't help me put it off: despite everything I have done, I am pre-diabetic. Insulin resistant. Headed toward the beast that is diabetes. The food and the exercise and the fact that I'm only 32 don't matter. I'm pre-diabetic. No, it's not who I am, but can we not pretend that this isn't horrifying news? Shaming news? Incredibly discouraging? I don't care if I'm not supposed to think and feel these things because that isn't making me not think and feel them.

The single silver lining here is that I'm not crazy. Something actually is very wrong. And no amount of perfect effort was going to fix this. My body, right now, actually is that broken. It doesn't matter if it sounds like an excuse (even to me), or if it's the rare exception to the rule to be this broken. My body is this broken. I actually am the exception to the rule. Yes, my past habits got me here, but no amount of correcting them without radical intervention is getting me out.

To be fair to myself, the a1c test, which determines diabetes, begins its "pre-diabetic" range at 5.7; a 6.4 is full on diabetes. My number was a 5.7, so that's just a tenth away from simply being the high end of the acceptable range. But still. The spike in my blood sugar, the spike in my insulin, then the crazy fast drops in each, plus the implications of that (you can read the article, but it comes down to this: my body turns all carbs and sugars--even "healthy" ones--into stored fat; I should say, though, that my triglycerides, blood pressure, HDL, all of that, are great. So at least for that.), were disheartening. I have worked so hard--I don't drink soda or eat ice cream or even eat whole grain bread, for goodness' sake. How can I be this careful and still be pre-diabetic?

My doctor talked me off the ledge. She's not a BSer, and she told me that the fact is, based on my lifelong weight struggles plus my family history on both sides, we're probably looking at 70-80% genetics here. Add in 27 years of poor environment (my horrible eating habits up until gastric bypass) and I'm simply fighting a losing battle against my body using traditional dietary and exercise methods. This explains why I stalled out and was only losing 4-6 pounds a month 9 months out from gastric bypass, despite stellar eating and 6-8 hours a week doing an intense gym routine. Why nothing has gotten significant weight off before surgery nor after having kids. Plus, even for me at this weight and with this information, she would start by recommending that I work with a nutritionist and getting my eating in line and adding in some exercise. For most people, that works. But since I have already done that, and it didn't work, it's time for the radical move.

The radical move is a special diet. In 17 years, she never advocated prepackaged food diets. Not that they're bad for everyone, she just found in her experience that they weren't a good long term solution for her clients. But then two years ago she learned about a diet that had made it's way to the US after almost two decades in Europe and Canada. She doesn't recommend it often, only when she knows it's the actual necessary choice. It's called Ideal Protein. It's similar to, say, Medifast and is specially formulated, prepacked foods with lean protein and specific low-carb veggies at dinner. Super strict, super focused, super regulatory for however long it takes me to get to a goal weight.

Long story short, it's the radical option to affect change for insulin resistant people when normal whole foods diets aren't helping. It's not cheap, and it's not going to be easy. It will be hard for me mentally to eat prepackaged foods on a low fat diet, with ingredients like soy (gah!) after so much work to eat healthy fats and minimal grains and death to soy and all that. But this isn't forever. It's to get me down to a healthy weight, get my body processing food and insulin and such the way it's supposed to, and then I can transition back to a paleo-esque, whole foods lifestyle.

Her only concern is that I will lose weight fast. Very fast. As in likely to be reaching a goal weight--even though that's a loss of 110-120 pounds--by late winter or spring. Can I just tell you that I can't even actually fathom that? The idea that after working so hard and nothing happening and then just dramatically losing weight and having a not morbidly obese body? Just...I'm not there yet. Mentally, I am so used to fighting a losing battle with my body that I am not sure this is real to me.

But, with regards to my original intent a week ago to write a post about my heart (spiritual) issues regarding running, we gotta go there.

Because I can't run. Doctor's orders.

This diet puts me into ketosis and I won't have the available glucose to support intense cardio. She told me that I don't even need to walk, but when I asked if I can she said yes, 20-30 minutes a day 5 times a week, as long as I keep my heart rate to 70-80%, which is 113-132 beats per minute. Thankfully, I have a heart rate monitor and can do that. It means I can't be super fast, but this is just about keeping the routine of keeping my body moving. Mentally, I just really treasure the time with Juliet and the fact that I'm doing something active. I fear that I'm BSing myself, but I think the fact is that I actually enjoy exercise. It's one part of why I've been killing myself to become a runner.

Here's the deal: I struggle under shame. I *know* I shouldn't, but I think about how the cultural attitude is that fat people just need to move more and eat less, and if they don't lose weight then they aren't doing that. If they say they are putting in real effort but are still fat then they're either lying or need to work harder This isn't a cultural attitude I think just exists out there--it's what I think everyone thinks about me. It's what I think about me.

So I work against that which I perceive to be true. I'm fat, I'm putting in the effort, but I'm still fat. I need to do more. I need to get thin on my own effort. I desperately wanted to eat well and become a runner and lose 100 pounds and be like, "See? I am not a worthless fat person. I used to be but I worked really hard to not only lose the weight but to gain your respect."

I am legitimately in love with the organic Power Greens mix from Costco.
Like, kale/spinach/chard speak to me. So can't 20 years ago me be that way?
As though eating kale would have fixed my heart. Sigh
This is so embarrassing, but I'm just going to be honest: remember my "Why Not Me?" posts? Both yesterday's and the original one? That I needed to be. a. runner. It's a fine dream, but Jesus just ripped the cover off of something I have been denying. Being told that I can't be a runner, that the dream is being pushed into the unknown future, made me stare something in the face: I feel ashamed of my past. I am ashamed of being not just the poor girl and the fat girl but, more than that, I am ashamed of being the desperate girl.

I just need to repeat that: I am ashamed of being the desperate girl.

With the grace in my life now, where I feel so much more free to rest in who Christ has said I am, I look back at my childhood, my high school years, and my college years with a heavy cringe. I just want to teleport back to her, to impute to past-Tami the maturity that today-Tami has grown into. Now, maybe that means I'm not actually all that mature. But this is the truth of what is in my heart. Me changing today is not enough.

I want to change who I was. And I want others to remember me not as I actually was then but as the me I wish I had been.

I was uncomfortably, openly desperate for love. I couldn't have guarded that open shame if I had tried. I had no idea how. I yearned and strived toward people being impressed with me.

How smart I was.

How funny I was.

How friendly I was.

How good at singing I was.

How nice I was.

How willing to help I was.

How easy to use I was.

Never how pretty I was, because that was a lost cause.

But how acceptably or even remarkably everything-other-than-beautiful I was.

And then, after Jesus claiming me as his own at 16, how good of a Christian I was.

Obedient. Faithful. Willing to serve. First to arrive, last to leave, and center of it all in between.

I just needed people to be impressed so much with whatever I could put out there as good that they would love me.

Somehow, no matter how much I have changed inside, the fat on my body reminds me of who I used to be. How I know people saw me. And I want to shed this fat and look as different on the outside as I am on the inside in hopes that somehow that will fix the desperation of my past. That if people from high school stumble across me on Facebook they go, "Whoa! That's Tami Keyser?" So that when I go to my 10 year college reunion this fall (whaaaaa?? TEN YEARS. I digress.) I see classmates and they just know that somehow the annoying, hyper-Christian, legalistic, obsessed with her one particular church girl is no more and someone more loving and tenderhearted and addicted to grace and actually in love with Jesus has taken her place.

Sigh. Ironically, this Ideal Protein deal may actually finally help me be thin. Like, able to shop in Old Navy and not only online thin. (Yeah, I have really high standards.) But that can't address the heart stuff, because no matter how thin I ever get, even if I reach my, "Yeah, right," dream of one day qualifying for and running the Boston Marathon, that will not take away the fact that I can't change who I used to be. I can't change how people who knew me then will remember me.

And my dream of being a runner? That's impaired by the fact that I have 5ks on 5.24 and 6.14 but I have to walk them. And, on the whole pushing myself part, my doctor told me that I wasn't lazy. It was way harder than it's supposed to be, not just because of the 270 pounds, but because my body doesn't access stored energy like it's supposed to. So I never got that runner's high or got healthier so that it would be a bit easier--I just felt like crap. And that made me push even harder, thinking I wasn't trying hard enough, which made me feel worse. Repeat cycle.

But there's still hope. Because if this diet really does work, really is the key to unlocking that heretofore inaccessible 70-80% genetic part of my body, then when I get to maintenance phase I can ramp up the fitness. She said, "Imagine running without carrying all this extra weight!"

You know what? Yes. Running without all this extra weight. I want that.

But not just body fat weight. This believing lies weight that I willfully haul around. I want redemption not just of who I am today, but for it to be enough that Jesus has always seen me as his. He has always loved me, even when I desperately sought for other people to fill that void in ways that I am now ashamed of. I remember hearing the verse about, basically, a horrible woman being like a city without walls, and believing the enemy when he said, "That's who you are." I was just a sloppy mess of a person who no one really wanted around but I kept hoping to be enough for someone. And I never was. I was never anyone's #1. I was never that preferred, seen, enough person to get the love I yearned for from anyone.

Instead, Jesus was enough for me. He took every flog strike, every nail, every thorn, the spear into his side, and said, "Tami, I am enough for you." He saw me in my weakness and rebellion and unbelief and flat out failure--that of my past, my present, and my future--and looked unto heaven from the cross, said, "Forgive [her] Father, for [she knows] not what [she does]." And then, though my record was filled with putrid unrighteousness, the rebellion of desperation sought everywhere but in Jesus, he sealed his perfect record for eternity, imputed his perfect righteousness to me, and said, "It. Is. Finished."

"'It is finished. And since it's so difficult to believe, I [God] have given you a part of me, my Spirit, whose whole job is to seep down deep into your ongoing regions of unbelief and preach one sermon: it is finished. It is finished. It is finished.'"

--Tullian Tchividjian, Romans series, sermon #11 (I cannot strongly enough encourage you to watch the whole thing, but if not that, then start at 46 minutes. Under 3 minutes of your life, absolutely unwasted.)

It is finished.

It is finished.

It is finished.