Just Another Day

Photo by Dawid Zawiła on Unsplash

I’ve been a whiney little bitch lately.

“Mom,” Lucy says, “Don’t say that. It’s been hard. It’s ok to be upset.”

You get what you get, Lucy, and you don’t get upset.

She’s right, though. Everyone deserves grace. And I get hard on myself. On everyone.

We’ve had our little list of grievances. Illnesses and injuries. Setbacks. Unmet expectations. And I’ve let it get to me, dragging me down with momentum that sets me up for my own little victimized pity party.

But Jesus, I know better.

This time of the year is busy. We’ve had visits and projects and appointments and health care travel. Business has been busy, which is great until you realize you don’t have space for it. All of my good intentions have gone out the window. Planning for this, scheduling for that, trying to make time for “me” – but with other’s birthdays and celebrations and end of the year activities, it all gets swept under the rug.

Futility is not my favourite concept.

I’ve been catching myself in the act of resentment, but it hasn’t made a difference.

Until today.

Today is May 31st. It has now been officially 3 years since the fated “seizure” day that almost took Violet’s life. Today is her day – our day. Today is a day we have designated to deny victimization, to savour each moment, to see it as it all is – utterly exquisite in all its silly futility.

Last night Violet woke me up. She threw up and had agonizing stomach cramps. Three. Years. Later. To the minute, maybe, of when she woke me up with similar complaints, a headache that wouldn’t quit, and a belly full of cancer. If that isn’t triggering, I don’t know what is.

I cuddled her back to sleep, recognizing that seething tension build in my body as I contemplated the consequences of her upset tummy. Dear God, what are the odds it would come back like this, so aligned in timing, so fatefully frightening?

She’s ok this morning. The water main broke in town a few days ago and we are on a boil water advisory. Two weeks ago, we suffered a vicious week-long stomach bug. There has to be another explanation for it. What matters is that she is ok, and we are going to celebrate the day, fears and grievances be damned.

My husband asked me yesterday why we chose to celebrate today and not the end of treatment. My Dad wondered the same thing. “Why not the day she rang the bell? Or left the hospital?”

“Which time she left the hospital?”

Sweet Rylie rang the bell, too, with Violet at her side, and we just celebrated her life at a ceremony weeks ago that makes the meaning of that bell-ringing obsolete.

Or does it? What are we celebrating? That it’s all over? That we’ve moved on? That we don’t ever have to fear the fragility of life again?

Not a chance. In fact, for the next three years, we are still very much in the weeds with her disease despite each and every postitive scan result. The odds are there that prove we can’t really, truly settle in to “relief” at all.

But that’s not the point, is it?

I am a seasoned, practiced worrier, despite my ability to explain with great detail and clarity that this is a useless practice. I get it, but I don’t apply that understanding. I look for problems everywhere, preaching about compassionate and faith – trusting the universe – and continuing to attract stupid little issues to complain about.

The point is today. The point is the moment. The point is the possibility that at any given time we have access to unconditional trust and appreciation and love. We can be grateful for being alive no matter what condition life is in.

Last night Lucy had her school performance out in the field at the school. Hundreds of kids and parents spread themselves across the grass, dressed in colorful clothes, staining their shoes with wet grass, chit chatting with one another. It brought me back to Violet’s Carnival at her school the year she finished treatment – our first “social engagement” after our return to town. I was beside myself with all the feels. I’ll never forget it, and I could never place my finger on exactly what emotions I felt, either. It was a messy, beautiful, unforgettable experience. It was a moment in time when I can truly say I didn’t, or couldn’t, take a single bit of it for granted.

I’m so sick of listening to my own thoughts that things aren’t, in some way, working out for me. There is always something we are missing out on, always something to strive for, always something “not quite right”, but that’s the juice of life. That’s what moves things forward, and it’s all good to be unsatisfied. But there’s no point in lingering there. And if there is anything I’ve learned, and something I’ve forgotten recently in my moments of sadness and frustration, it’s that I am so unbelievably lucky.

Today we will eat dessert first, ditch school to play, savour the sun. Just because it’s today.