May 31st

This is the moment. Exactly (to the hour) two years ago, fate was orchestrating a summersault in perspective that would forever change our reality. On May 31, 2021, at about 7:00 am, Violet lost consciousness, and when she awoke – when the pulled the breathing tube out of her throat and she, finally, opened her eyes, everything had changed.

And yet here we are, two years later, back to our old habits.

Life is an incredibly malleable thing, and so much more than we realize is dictated by our choices. Not, necessarily, the actions we take - the stuff we move around - but the direction we choose to look.

Tragedy and trauma and tribulations teach us this with bold wisdom. When you are in a situation when looking at things from a “worst case scenario” is too incomprehensible of an option, you organically make the better choice. You assume things are working out. You assume you will be ok. You assume this, too, is a valuable experience. You just have to.

When we received the news that Violet’s disease had a better chance of killing her than not, and that the alternative measures to prevent that were equally as high risk, the “worst case scenario” was so real, so at the tip of our fingers, that closing our eyes and going within to look for that place of hope and positivity was the only thing that kept us breathing.

Our past few weeks – months – have been incredibly hard. So much so that, for the first time in maybe my whole life, I’ve put my words aside more than not and kept pain mostly in my heart.

When you are amidst a tragedy, empathy abounds. You are given permission to hurt, and people want to offer understanding and patience and love more than judgment. It is a safe space, usually, where validation for emotions and behaviour isn’t required.

But when the “tragedy” ebbs and life returns to its rhythm of contrast and contentment, things move on and the expectation is that you should to. We can’t always all treat one another like we are going through a catastrophe.

Or can we? Should we?

We are as guilty as they come of judging others. It’s tough to distinguish, sometimes, judgment from observation or opinion. Each have a different level of meaning and consequence. It’s when we look at people without kindness and compassion that we lose our connection. We lose that wisdom that is so centrally present when we are leaning into faith.

I’ve lost that connection so many times recently. I’ve been hurting, trying to make sense of an experience that wants to defy meaning. I’ve been trying to let go of so many things, knowing you can’t ever go back, but still not really knowing what forward clearly looks like.

I’ve been getting good, again, at focusing on all the things I don’t want. I’ve been forgetting to turn my attention from my fears.

Today is now a holiday in our family. We haven’t given it a title yet, just “May 31st”. Violet wanted it to be her day, but she wasn’t the only one whose life took a 180. This whole family went through this ordeal collectively. We all need to take a pause and honour the moment, as holidays are meant for us all to do.

A week or two after Violet was admitted to the ICU at BCCH, she was finally well enough to leave her bed. They sat her in a wheelchair and we rolled down to the first floor courtyard, outside of Starbucks, and met with my husband and daughter and parents and brothers and sister-in-law. She, with her fresh GI tube in her nose, knotted hair, and frail limbs, sat silently by the table while we, more or less, stared at her, at a loss as to what to say. She pulled out a pile of ripped-up paper she had brought down, along with a few writing utensils, and suggested we each write something we would love to do together. The implied ending of that suggestion was, “if we ever get out of here.”

Well, we did. We got out and Violet, somehow, beyond anyone’s expectations (except maybe hers), is kicking serious ass. She is more alive in many ways than she ever had been before (for better or worse). And today, we are going to revisit that list and check a few off, school day be damned.

I am an Idealist to the core, and it mostly serves me well. My feet leave the ground sometimes and it’s helpful to have people that will grab a toe and keep me from Mary Poppins-ing to the stratosphere where reality no longer has substance to support sanity. It’s good to keep a connection with the way others see things, or you become alienated and alone. I married a Cynic, too, so sometimes it’s a seemingly insurmountable challenge to find that middle ground between positivity and pessimism. But the overlap is important. Too far in any direction and we hit the rumble strip on the highway. And if you keep veering out of your lane, you end up off a cliff.

I’ve been hitting the rumble strip. As we’ve tried to navigate our way back to a “reality” that fits into the landscape around us, we’ve struggled not to hang on to things that feel comfortable and safe. Old resentments and fears. Blame. Anger. Regret. Things that make us feel…connected to a reality, albeit old and unproductive.

I’ve forgotten that feeling that I had two years ago on this day when Violet’s ambulance pulled over to the side of the road in West Kelowna, where we parked so that the ALS (Advanced Life Support) vehicle could come and put her into a coma to stop her seizures. I was looking across the street, trying to breathe, focusing on the White Spot restaurant that Violet has asked over the weekend to go to for a cheeseburger, and thinking, “if we make it through this, I’ll take her for a cheeseburger. Right away. Because all we ever have is right now.”

Right now, the sun is shining and the lake is reflecting its glimmer through my window. The petunias are bright vermillion and I can smell them through the open screen. Our new dogs are chasing each other around the living room while Lucy giggles and calls me to come and play. Violet is still in bed, sleeping soundly, nestled in stuffies and clean sheets. My husband is in his shop, busy with a business that he was worked for so many years to see start to flourish. We are healthy and home and together.

Life is always throwing stuff at us. As friends and family have reminded us more than once over the past few months, we are all going through something. And it’s true, we are. Maybe not childhood cancer, but something, and the truth is that the thing we are going through is often not the main event – it’s how that thing is affecting us. And that comes from our perspective. That comes from our focus. That comes from what we are paying attention to.

I need to stop paying attention to impatience and unkindness and stress and conflict and fear. I need to remember to focus on the flowers and the feeling of my family laying next to me on the couch, the sound of snoring beside me in my own bed, the opportunity in every moment to seize it, find the thing that feels good and savour it. Appreciate and bask in the fleeting perfection that is today.

It's been too long since I’ve acknowledged my gratitude for every single bit of my silly little life, and all of the amazing people I am so lucky to have in it. I’ve forgotten that imperfections are what make relationships and life worthwhile. I’ve forgotten that none of us ever has enough of an excuse to be committed to unhappiness. Life’s just too damn short. The worst-case scenario can still happen, but we can always choose how to look at it.

Happy May 31st.