Two Year Anniversary

Two years ago on September 14th, Mike called me to tell me he would not make it home in time to get Owen off the bus. No problem—I’ll go home and get him.

About 10 minutes after Owen got off the bus, Dr. Mann (neurologist who ordered Mike’s first MRI) called and in a very matter-of-fact way, let me know that Michael has a large mass on his brain and needed immediate care. He should not drive, can you please come get him?

In that instant, my life irrevocably changed. The feeling was sheer terror. I called work to let them know I would not be coming back in and I called my mother to tell her. If I could rewind and redo it, I would take a moment to talk to Owen. I was crying and telling people things and he was listening. He must have been scared out of his mind. That moment changed him forever as well.

Owen and I went to pick up Mike and he sobbed and just kept saying he was sorry. I was sorry too—that this had to happen to him. Little did I know how much his sorry was so apt—we would ALL struggle through this together. In some ways, I think the caregiver has a tougher time emotionally. Just sayin’.

The next couple weeks were certainly a whirlwind: surgery, recovery, follow-up. At the follow-up appointment, we found out that his tumor was a Grade 3—even closer to a Grade 2 (according to one doctor). My mother took that to mean it was definitively a Grade 2.

At this point, I would be remiss to mention the love and support of friends and family. My entire family came to the hospital the day of the surgery to sit with me and support me. My best friend, Becka, brought nourishment, reading and love. Those two weeks between diagnosis and discharge from surgery seemed like they happened to someone else.
Another beautiful thing happened right before Mike’s surgery: a prayer service. The love and support at the chapel that evening along with God’s presence was so overwhelming and moving. We would gather a year later in gratitude for Mike’s good health. God is so good.

As we struggled through the radiation and chemo, we came out the other side. There were nights where I didn’t think I could do it any longer. There were days where Mike barely got out of bed. There were times when I had so little patience to deal with the kids. To say this time was challenging would be an understatement. And there is the fear. Always the fear. The fear that the other shoe could drop at any time and there could be a recurrence. We see it all the time with other people we know that have brain tumors. But then we center ourselves and remind ourselves to live in the moment—to cherish each day and each other wholly. See, we have been given a gift with this cancer. We have been given a gratitude for life that we would have never been given otherwise. For that, I am thankful. I am thankful that when faced with the fear of death, we survived. I am thankful that Owen has healed and continues to heal from the shock of it. I am thankful that our children are healthy. And I am thankful that Mike has had all clean MRIs and is functioning quite near 100%. How can we not be grateful?
Lastly, I have to express my thanks for the prayers far and wide. For the people that have left notes on Caring Bridge that we don’t even know. For the cards that came at a steady pace from Basket Road. For the meals that were delivered every night from different Victor lacrosse families some of whom we had never met. I think we still have your Tupperware. For my friends that sat and cried with me as I wondered how I was going to get through it. For Mike’s ever-optimistic Chicago buddy, John, who has to be the most positive person on the planet. For Mike’s doctors, especially his PA, Jennifer Serventi, who would answer his emails at all hours so we didn’t have to wait to find out during business hours.

After reviewing this, I am so sure that this was meant to happen. At both of the prayer services, Jim sang this Psalm. It is my favorite:

Psalm 40 (lyrics by U2)
I waited patiently for the Lord
He inclined and heard my cry
He brought me up out of the pit
Out of the miry clay

I will sing, sing a new song
I will sing, sing a new song

How long to sing this song?
How long to sing this song?
How long, how long
How long, how long to sing this song?

He set my feet upon a rock
And made my footsteps firm
Many will see
Many will see and fear

I will sing, sing a new song
I will sing, sing a new song
I will sing, sing a new song
I will sing, sing a new song

How long to sing this song?
How long to sing this song?
How long, how long
How long, how long to sing this song?

I am OK singing this song as long as I need to.

Pensivity

COTY took the kids to Virginia at crack o' dawn yesterday. He took the swagger wagon, so I am left with the other vehicle and a lot of time to think and be. Just worry about me. It is weird. And I need to do more of it even when I am in the midst of the crazy.

We just spent a gorgeous Saturday on Conesus Lake. I just sat and gazed at the water and felt such peace. Fire, water and trees do this.

I am not a writer with one central theme per post but more random thoughts.

Today it is about "bolting". I am trying to sit with myself when all I want to do is bolt/divert/eat/ignore/not be. I find that if I turn to my thoughts of fire, water and earth, they comfort me.

I have been absorbing the writings of a dear old friend of mine, Jodi Aman. She has started a blog: atimewrinkler.net. Good, thought and emotion-provoking stuff. The premise is that "wrinkles" are tough times in our life. If there is a wrinkle in fabric, you traverse more fabric in a shorter amount of time. If the fabric is all smooth, while easier to traverse, it takes longer and the depth of learning and leaning in is not there. If you go across the wrinkle, you have the opportunity to learn/grow/expand and FEEL more. Thank you, Jodi.

I have also been missing my spiritual food at church. I am looking forward to our return to Religious Ed and the possibility of COTY joining me!?!

If we stop, look, listen, we can see so much and gather strength for the tougher days. I am savoring this quiet time with me. It is renewal.

Off to Virginia tomorrow.

Cate's Self-love

Harper: "I love you, Mom".
Mom: "I love you, Harper".

Harper: "I love you, Daddy".
Dad: "I love you, Harper".

Harper: "I love you, Cate".
Cate: "I love.....myself".

Where does the Minivan Go?

I've learned some new phrases that I have adopted.

If someone is just plain not nice, they are "striving".

If I am sad, I need to grieve. I can't just "get over it".

I am so excited to start this bloggin' adventure. I have 3 children, one of whom is growing up very fast. I am beginning to get glimpses of the more emotional problems older kids have. It is so much easier when all they need is to have their shoes tied. Since most of the childrens' shoes in our house are velcro, I really haven't even done much of that. This life of mine is taking me new places all the time. This blog will be about that. I'm not just talkin' about physical places, but emotional and intellectual ones too. Well, as intellectual as my mushy mind gets these days.

Hope it does not bore you to tears.