Four of your favorites on the way to see you, Mom (and to see Dad too, of course). We love you so much and are doing our best to cast our cares just like you always say. ♡
Author: Kaleidoscopic Grace
23 September 2020: We hurried onto a plane.
22 September 2020: I really need to talk to you.
Dear Mom, You have to get better soon… I love you and I really need to talk to you.
22 August 2020: I don’t have a boyfriend anymore.
Dear Diary,
On Saturday, August 22, 2020, shortly before 4:30 PM, I stopped having a boyfriend. It wasn’t how I expected the day to turn out at all.
We made plans to meet a couple of our friends at the beach for the afternoon and then stop by their house later that night for a BBQ. The girls were excited about it all week… but then, Nathan informed us he had to work a half-day that day. I understood, but I was also a bit disappointed because I know how sometimes half days can turn into three-quarter days and I didn’t want the girls to miss out on going on the beach trip they’d been anticipating for so long.
In the morning, Nate reminded me that it was the ‘anniversary’ of the day we truly reconnected again… the random “go to bed” message I sent him that somehow led to the chain reaction of our shared life together. I was pretty darn impressed that he remembered… or even that he took the time to make a note of it. It’s not typically a ‘guyish’ thing to do, but he’s a “full of surprises” kind of guy.
The clouds outside were downcast. It even started drizzling as he left for work. Bummer. I prayed the rain would hold off a while so we could spend the day relaxing in the sand together. It was long overdue—especially after the summer it’d been. I caught myself in a daydream.
Aaaaand then I went into squirrel-mode trying to make sure everything was ready. I couldn’t forget the badminton net or the frisbee. There wasn’t a bag big enough for everything, so I just used the zippy bag from Aria’s bedding set… it worked well enough. Towels, check. Sunscreen, check. More sunscreen, check. Water bottles? Check. Ziplocs for collecting shells, check. I even sewed strings onto the girls’ sunhats so they wouldn’t fly away at the first strong breeze.
Am I forgetting anything? Oh yeah! A swimsuit coverup! I reached into the closet and grabbed the biggest, longest, frumpiest button-up shirt I could find, and threw it on. After all, it’s not like I had to impress anyone… it was just a casual day at the beach, not a beauty pageant, right?
Nathan pulled into the driveway as the girls and I were chomping at the bit all ready to leave. We were supposed to meet Heidi and Zac at the beach around 2, or so I thought. It turned out that they were meeting us at our house and THEN we were heading to the beach. That made sense too. Then, Nate told me that a few of our other friends would be there as well… I told him we should probably extend the invitation to Hannah, Kevin, Shasta, and Kimchi too and make it a group thing (I went off to find my volleyball… I’d been itching for a beach game anyway; there’s just usually never enough people) … but he said the others were busy. Maybe next time. I left the volleyball at home but remembered to quickly grab one of the books I’d been reading, “The Best Yes”. You can’t go to the beach without at least one book. It’s probably a rule somewhere.
Denise, Nick, and their crew (Tristan and Ella) showed up—followed shortly thereafter by Heidi and Zac. Everyone was in such a chipper mood for it being a gloomy-looking day. I chalked it up to coffee. Denise even took a few group selfies (which turned out great). It took us a little while to consolidate which beach we were going to and where we’d park since the island-parking-dictator-people recently limited beach parking in some areas… but we figured it out!
Windows down, our favorite Spotify playlist blaring, and smiles on, we were finally headed to the beach! As usual, I tried getting a few video snippets of our Jeep-karaoke session… Nathan really gets into Elton John’s “Tiny Dancer” when the beat drops… I wanted to capture it, but he’s onto me now and as soon as my phone points in his direction, he puts on a stone face or pulls his hat down. *rolls eyes* No fun. I took a video anyway. He’d have to get over it… or I’ll have to be more subtle next time.
After a bunch of circling around the Isle of Palms, we all parked and trekked to the beach. For not exactly being a sunny day, it was still pretty crowded. Ick. People. Hahaha… just kidding. We DID try to find a more isolated spot though. And of course, the girls wanted to go right into the water. Which meant that I had to, too. I thought Nate would want to go in with us, but he stayed back a bit… and then left again. And was on his phone when we got there. That’s not like him. I was concerned that maybe something happened with work. Oh, please don’t make him have to go back in today… he seemed distracted.
Aria didn’t want me to put her down. Machaela wanted to go deeper into the ocean than where Aria was comfortable… I was torn. So I stayed back a little bit but made sure if there was an emergency, I’d be in lunging range… she wasn’t even that deep anyway, but my brain operates on perpetual Mom-mode whenever the girls are around. Nathan joined us for a few minutes and then left to go back up to where everyone was. Not gonna lie, I was a bit disgruntled because I really could’ve used the help. I wasn’t about to leave the girls down there alone and there’s no way they’d want to go back up to the towels so soon anyway. I don’t know how I hadn’t factored this dilemma into my expectations for the day hahaha.
After a while longer, I was able to convince them that drying off for a bit and getting a drink from the cooler was a good idea. As we walked up to where everyone else was, Denise said we should all go off and look for shells down the shore. Okay… my book can wait. You see, I just had a tiny bit of it left to read… and if you’re an avid reader, you’re probably familiar with that all-consuming feeling of being sooooooo close to finishing a book you’d been chipping away at for ages… I just wanted to get to the last page already so I could get it out of my mind and move on; the beach is usually the perfect spot for finishing novels.
I thought Nate was behind us, but when I turned around to talk to him, he was already headed back towards the other group of our friends… Okay? I guess he’s not looking for shells with us either. Denise said something about him going to set up the badminton net so we could play later. Okay. That made sense. The girls and I were really looking forward to it. I felt a bit guilty for being kind of upset about how distracted he seemed.
We strolled along for a while… seemingly farther and farther away from where we initially set up the umbrella. And I thought that I was big on walking the shore for shells, but the way Denise was going on about it was a whole different level. She seemed dead set on finding sand dollars to show the girls. It was sweet. Every time I mentioned about maybe heading back so we could all hang out together, she said that she needed to keep her promise to the girls. I couldn’t really argue with that…
Finally, she got a call and said that they finished setting up the net and were ready for a game of badminton… or frisbee… or whatever everyone wanted to play. Yes! It was perfect badminton weather. The sun was tucked behind the clouds instead of in our faces and the rain was holding off. Aria was covered in sand. I’m fairly certain she was even more sand than she was swimsuit. She ran off ahead of us. The closer we approached, the more confused I became… I didn’t see the badminton net anywhere… where in tarnation did they put it? Then, I remembered that I accidentally left the actual poles for the net part back at the house and felt really bad… of course they couldn’t have set it up… they didn’t have all of the pieces! *facepalm* … I felt bad that they must’ve spent all that time looking in vain while I was off gallivanting with the girls collecting shells. They didn’t seem phased though. Nate called me over to where he was and I saw a bouquet of red and white roses in the sand near the cooler.
I thought, “Oh wow… he’s really taking our “Reconnectiversary” to a whole nother level… and I didn’t even get anything to surprise him with… drat!” I was so confused. Our friends were standing around angled in our direction… even the girls stayed back a little bit. He reached down for the flowers and something else… an empty Corona bottle? I felt under-prepared and made a mental note to think of a way to try to make it up to him for going above and beyond for the anniversary of us reconnecting again… maybe a nice dinner? I honestly didn’t realize he’d make such a big to-do about it.
He told me to read the letter that was rolled up inside of the bottle… aweeee a message in a bottle! I didn’t realize that he wrote it on a scrap piece of paper, so I started to read the visible portion of text that was printed out on it… “Flex Login Enter Username???” He raised an eyebrow before realizing that I was reading the wrong side of the paper… “No, not THAT side… the other side!” We laughed. I felt silly. I was nervous and didn’t even quite understand why. I’m not much of a spotlight person, but I felt the heat of everyone looking at us as if knowing details that had yet to be revealed to me.
I started to read his remarkably legible handwriting… “Hello My Love, You’re most likely wondering why there is this message in a bottle for you…” Yes, yes I was wondering exactly that. [I’m not going to divulge everything that was written in the letter or even most of it, but I’ll share a few snippets. It was the sweetest thing I’d ever read from the sweetest man I’ve ever known.] As I read… “You and the girls mean everything to me.” … “You know better than anyone that sometimes a letter can explain things that we can’t in the moment…” He guided me closer and closer to the driftwood bench in the sand. [In the midst of it all, Machaela caught my attention to show me one of the shells she found, and Aria proudly showed off how covered in sand she was. I love them. Okay, back to the letter] … “We spend our whole lives looking for love. It took a while to look back at the 10-year-old me that told my mother ‘I’m going to marry that girl one day.’… … … I was right.” … … … “P.S. Will You?”
Is this…? Is he…?
As I lifted my eyes from the page, trying to keep my tears reined in, he got down on one knee in front of me and a heart that was drawn in the sand with “Will you marry me?” spelled out in seashells, God, the girls, our friends, and everybody else at the beach, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a little black velvet box—which he opened up to show the prettiest ring I’d ever seen, told me he wants to spend the rest of his life with us, and asked if I would marry him.
It took a moment to process what was happening… I was so overwhelmed with emotion I could barely speak, so I nodded—not wanting to keep him waiting… and said “Yes” while leaning in for a kiss. Then, I noticed a few of our other friends… the ones who were “busy” and “couldn’t join us” standing in the background holding cameras… it turns out that they had been there for hours before we arrived—hiding in the bushes with the bouquet of roses and their cameras (even to the point where they explained to the people nearby that they weren’t spying on them but were staying out of sight to be able to document their friends’ engagement) just so they could capture our special moment.
I couldn’t believe that everyone was in on it—even the girls! He had asked for their ‘blessing’ to propose to me… Machaela was even the one who hid the ring the whole time! My heart was overflowing… Hannah and Shasta spent hours crouched in the sand, Denise and Nick spent their own anniversary (yep, it was their anniversary that day!) helping out with our engagement, Heidi and Zac were gathering shells and keeping a lookout to make sure that the surprise didn’t get spoiled, Denise took a ton of pictures and a video from our perspective while distracting me long enough for everyone else to help stage the scene… and the girls kept the secret the whole time… how am I so lucky to be surrounded by this much love?
When I said “Yes,” I wasn’t just saying yes to being his fiancée. I said yes to our future… yes to our family… yes to the ups and downs and everything else that comes along with building and sharing a life together. While I didn’t get to finish reading the last chapter of my book during our time there, we started writing an even better one of our own. Ironically, its title couldn’t have been more appropriate: “The Best Yes”.
Sincerely,
me.
19 April 2020: It’s been 1 month since the transplant.
It has been 1 month since my Mom's Bone Marrow Transplant. 1 month since the date of her 'rebirth'. ❤ I remember the whole family had to resort to talking to her on a group video chat during the procedure since the visitor lock down/ban had us unable to be physically there with her. It was a rough few weeks for my parents--not being able to be near each other--having to communicate only over flip-phone and texting (before I taught them how to video chat via laptop)... the misunderstandings in tone... the feeling of long-distance 'not enoughness'... the ache of desperately wanting to be with someone currently unreachable. It took its toll but didn't defeat them. My Dad called me today because he needed help connecting to the WiFi at the place where they're staying for the week down in Philly (she still needs to be close to her specialists and monitored, etc.)... so they could watch Pastor's live church service together... and as I was trying to walk him through how to access the network, I heard my Mom in the background, "Keith, you have to find the one the says the WiFi network name! You can't just use that password for any of them!" to which my Dad replied, "Patty, if you knew that this whole time, why didn't YOU say anything until just now?" Hahaha.... I've missed hearing them occupy the same space. It made me smile. They really are so much better together than they are apart. For a moment, it reminded me that it's been over 3 months since I've been able to hug MY special someone or make goofy faces at him from across the room. What a strange emotion... to feel elation, hope, discouragement, and melancholy all at the same time. We're so much better together than we are apart, too. I hate that my parents had to be away from each other as long as they did... I know that my Dad wanted nothing more than to be there for my Mom as she was (and still is) going through the trials of the early stages of adaptation and recovery... but through it all, I think that it might have offered a morsel of perspective of the struggles and ache of loving someone from a distance. Sometimes understanding only comes through experience. My Mom celebrates 1 month post-transplant today... prayed up and getting stronger every day... she is the bravest and most resilient woman I've ever known and it brings me so much hope that despite the hurdles, obstacles, and trials over the past year+, there's a fresh chapter waiting for me somewhere in the midst of it all too. Happy 1 Month Rebirthday, Mom. I love you to the edge of the Universe and back.
19 March 2020: We celebrated.
I threw an online surprise birthday/transplant party on Facebook while my stem cells were transplanted into my Mom's body...and invited the whole family to it so we could all 'be there' for her. ♡ [Nathan made a guest appearance via my phone during the video chat to say hi to everyone too... as did Spence (pictured above)] Keep the prayers coming (and thank you for them)! The doctors/nurses are heavily monitoring her for at least the next 2 hours and then tomorrow she gets the part of her treatment where they encourage/coax the healthy cells to replicate more/faster...(health professional friends, as always, please feel free to correct/elaborate on my explanations)... and they have to suppress her immune system for a bit to make sure her body doesn't naturally try to reject the new cells... then, a week or so later, she goes through another treatment to rebuild her immune system with lots of monitoring and fluid level correction in between/during.
16 March 2020: I was selfish.
March 16, 2020: Monday – 8:36 a.m.: Thoughts: I’ve never seen such a beautiful sunrise over superstructure horizon. The view from the 21st floor of the Lyric, overlooking the heart of Philadelphia during the golden hours, takes my breath away. There is a brief moment of magic on the cusp of daybreak before the city's skyline dims when Heaven’s masterpiece melts into a collaboration between the Creator and man’s delusive efforts not to be outshone. When I look outside, I can see across to the building where my Mom is staying for the procedure and part of her recovery. Her window stands out, 5th trio from the right—the distinct outline of her transplant calendar framed evenly by the middle pane of glass. Sometimes I can even see her silhouette peeking out through the left of the nurses’ schedule (from my perspective, that is). There aren’t any windows above hers—although there is at least one more floor… a helipad appears to float, centered above her room, tethered to steel pillars invisible to the naked eye. I like to watch the helicopters in flight, maneuvering through the sky as they land, and whisper anonymous prayers for everyone inside. It’s 10:17 a.m., 43 degrees Fahrenheit, and I miss her. We video chat sometimes—when she remembers to activate the WiFi on her phone; I jotted a reminder on her wall before we left on Friday night when Covid-19 precautions ‘kicked us out’ of the hospital. Dad is low-key driving me crazy, but I love him anyway. He’s just not used to being away from Mom for any extended period of time—they’ve been together over 40 years and I don’t think they’ve ever even been separated this long throughout their entire relationship. It’s sweet, but also sad. He doesn’t seem to know what to do in her absence…and she’s only 3 blocks away. I’m fairly certain that he’s already tweaked and fixed anything and everything in the mini-suite that needed fixing or tweaking…a squeaky door hinge, wonky shower curtains, a bent mirror shelf, etc…but that’s how it works, isn’t it? When we can’t fix what matters the most, we go around adjusting the things we can so that we don’t feel as helpless as we really are. People keep telling me I’m brave. They say that what I’m doing for my Mom is a selfless act, when in all reality, it might be the single most selfish thing I’ve ever done. It didn’t take bravery; it took obstinance. The truth is, I’m just not ready or willing to imagine my life without her in it. Others have been far more courageous with far less at stake. I’m doing this because I don’t want my children to lose their grandmother, my father to lose his wife, my sisters and I to lose our mother, or for her to lose all of us. I’m selfish. I have more memories to collect, more hugs to share, more wisdom to hear, more smiles to see, more laughter to feel, and more adventures to plan with her. My mother plays one of the absolute most important roles in my autobiography—and we’re just about to get to the really good parts—the chapters where perseverance through hellfire and tribulation unfolds into the beginning of “happily ever after”. I want her to see that the prayers she cried through clenched fists and tear-stained eyes over the years…prayers for my life… weren’t uttered in vain… and for her to be standing next to me when the knot is finally tied in the right place. She’s got more grandchildren to have, more giggles to enjoy, and so many more stories to tell—many of which have yet to be written…including this one. So no, this isn’t selfless and it doesn’t make me brave—not from where I stand. I look in the mirror and see a little girl who still isn’t ready to let go of her mother’s hand to face a scary world alone…and I am so darn lucky that this is all it takes from me to keep her.
13 March 2020: It’s been 6 months with him.
I'm not typically one of those people who flamboyantly celebrates "mini-versaries" of things... especially relationships. I'm not the "Happy 8 weeks and 3 days of being a facebook couple!" type [and I'm still not]. But this is my exception. [This might not be coming out so well because I'm also fighting a migraine at the moment and words are a bit jumbly in my head] 6 months ago--ironically (or algorithmically) also on a Friday the 13th while we were watching a horror film, Nathan 'asked' me to be his girlfriend... again... 20-some years after he didn't even ask the first time, just assumed I was (but I definitely was)... he didn't even technically ask this time either... just kind of put that we were "in a relationship"...so I guess we've been dating this whole time after all. 😛 Long distance isn't inherently easy. But we make it work. 6 months into all of this and he's been with me through more than some couples are faced with even years into their relationship. I'm writing this from the inside of a hospital room on quite arguably the most isolated floor in the entire hospital (air-lock entrance/exit, scrubbing in, mandatory mask/glove wearing, no eating/drinking, etc) and he has been with me through the whole transplant process. From the unnerving initial wait to find out if I was a match for my Mom to all of the health evaluations, exams, timelines, he's been there. And patient with me--even staying on video calls with me through the night while I'm here-- just to make sure I'm okay. I just... I feel so much better with him around...calmer... regardless of if we're falling asleep together watching a movie from 800 miles away, laughing at one of our shows, critiquing each other's cooking methods, making jokes, or whatever other silly shenanigans we get ourselves into... and I have never felt so loved. I don't have the greatest history of making exceptional choices, but 6 months ago I made the best one ever. ❤ Happy halfi-dating-versary, Charming. You're my person. [Don't get used to it though... after this it's just the yearly ones. Hahaha]
9 March 2020: It’s transplant day #1
Transplant Procedure Update #1: Day 1: [Un-revised Mind-Rambles] This morning, my parents made the 3-hour(ish) trek to Philadelphia to start the journey toward my Mom's healing/recovery. As I’m writing this, she’s enduring her first round of radiation… and for those of you who know its process, you understand what it means…”enduring”. For this procedure, it’s needed. Before they left (around 2:30-3:00 a.m.), I gave her the biggest but most gentle hug I’ve ever given in my life and reminded her, “don’t forget to cast your cares”. Hopefully, I’ll get to see her on Wednesday when I join her at the hospital (from my understanding, we will be in different places throughout the entire week—so I don’t even know if I’ll get to actually be with her at any point during my part of the transplant) but if not, I know that heartfelt hug will carry us through the days ahead. To be honest, I felt a bit empowered yesterday—being the only one really able to embrace her since she’s going to be sharing my blood soon enough anyway. I had to forcefully tug my ego down a notch. (just kidding). [Humor has always been my default ‘defense’ mechanism of sorts when I have something serious to say; those of you who know me, or who have been following my quirkily-eccentric life adventures over the years, can probably already identify the pattern in the way that I write.] It’s time to be serious now, though. [I wrote the first part for her birthday, but didn’t get a chance to finish it until today when it sort of took off in its own direction.] --- What more can I say to honor a woman who already speaks for herself through the selfless way she lives?—the very same woman who had been cultivating within me the meaning of sacrifice since the day her piercing gaze locked onto the blue of my father's eyes and she proclaimed that if it ever came down to the wire and a choice needed to be made between her or me during childbirth, she would choose me in a heartbeat and he must too. We were both nearly lost in the process of my delivery; I firmly believe that my parents' unwavering faith and the inconceivable strength of my mother's love saved our lives that day. As an infant, there were times when she wasn’t around as often as I’d have liked. I have traces of memories from the early years on Liberty Street [don’t worry, it’s not the answer to any of my security questions…but it might be my sister’s!]—missing the warmth of her voice when she left to work nights to help make ends meet for our family. One of the biggest sacrifices a parent can make is to have to spend time away from their child(ren) in order to offer them their best chance at life. I can’t even imagine the number of times she laced up her shoes and kissed me goodnight with tears in her eyes before walking through the door to head off to the Manor to clock in. Or how many soiled bed sheets she changed while watching the clock and praying time would go by faster so she could get off her feet and wrap her arms around her husband and children instead of an IV pole that needed to be wheeled down the hall to room 13. She must’ve been worn out by the time she returned through the doorway to the apartment… top floor, I believe. My sisters would know; they were older. [It was the ground floor; I stand corrected.] Through her, I learned what sacrifice means—the way she never spent a cent on herself when it was needed for her children. The times we’ve all fallen ill—including/especially her—and she kept going… steadying herself, as frail as she was, against the counter top just to make soup for us or measure out our antibiotics. She was always there with a warm cup of tea, a splash of milk and two sugars—she still is. “Nonnie tea,” Aria calls it. And for as much as she talks and opinionates (she’s Slovak, it’s expected), she also listens. I honestly don’t know how I’d have gotten through the past year had it not been for her shoulder to lean on when the rest of my life felt like it was crumbling right from under me. Don’t get me wrong though… we didn’t always get along so well. One time during high school when I was sitting on my bed (it was arranged in the room differently than it is now—parallel to the door instead of perpendicular, against the wall) and we were having a discussion—I don’t quite remember now if she went to grab something from me, or what the context was… but she ended up accidentally leaning forward too far too quickly and smacking her face on the doorknob. She had a bruised eye for quite a few weeks from that. I remember going to church that month and feeling bad when my Dad was getting the side-eye from some of the other congregation members—as if he were the one responsible for it when really it was indirectly my fault. My Dad has put up with a lot over the years… he’s a champ too. The angriest I’ve ever seen him towards my Mom resulted in him setting a remote controller down on the table slightly louder than usual. That’s it. He has always set a fine example of unconditional love and respect in his relationship with my Mom. Her being sick has been very hard on him too… maybe even especially him in ways… but I’m digressing—as I usually do when jotting my thoughts down in a candid series… you can see the way the gears twist and concepts connect from one to the other to create the big picture as a whole… fragments coming together. Speaking of the big picture… I haven’t even started packing yet. Am I scared? Parts of me are… like my stomach that finds itself in tangles thinking about what she must be going through right now. How humbling (for a delicate choice of verbiage) it must be to have to sit vulnerably and uncomfortably-positioned in a cold room with cold air in a cold chair surrounded by unfamiliar machinery—left with nothing except for maybe a 1-ply dollhouse-ratio napkin to cover the essentials and unbridled thoughts bouncing around in a frenzy… flesh invaded by dangerous particles making a war zone out of you. “Don’t move.” Stillness in body, synapses transmitting a billion miles a minute. My mother’s tenacity is contagious. I learned the true meaning of strength the night we almost lost my older sister, Tristina, when a tumor inside of her burst. My parents sped to Lebanon, PA in the middle of the night as she was rushed in for emergency surgery. This isn’t the first time mom’s had to fight it… cancer… the first time was for her child. She’ll win again. We all will. There has to be a reason for it all. And I’m going to keep searching until I find out what it is. She doesn’t expect this to be easy…the procedure…but there isn’t a bone in her body that has ever been spoiled with the overuse of the definition of that word. “Easy.” She’s tough. So, what more can I say to honor a woman who already speaks for herself through the selfless way she lives?—the very same woman who had been cultivating within me the meaning of sacrifice since the day her piercing gaze locked onto the blue of my father's eyes and she proclaimed that if it ever came down to the wire and a choice needed to be made between her or me, she would choose me in a heartbeat and he must too... this time, years later, the decision is non-negotiable... "Both." We’ll get through this the same way we’ve conquered all of the other trials in the history of our family… unwavering faith [yours too] and the inconceivable strength of a mother's love.
25 February 2020: Close to you.
When I was 10 months old, I had a hernia operation. The hairline scar grew with me throughout adolescence--and so has my love for giraffes. Let me explain. It was during that hospital stay when my parents presented me with a tiny little plush giraffe--one that looks almost like it was crafted in the style of a Precious Moments character and was probably almost as tall as I was at that age. I was fascinated. As soon as I was able to form words on my own, I called him "Joshy". Fast-forward through various holidays, birthdays, and souvenir-shop endeavors... from family members, friends, and even acquaintances... I was surrounded by giraffes. Drawings, figurines, stuffed animals, bedspreads (ironically enough, I don't actually particularly fancy animal print patterns), I amassed quite an inadvertent collection. I even remember the best Christmas gift my parents had ever gotten for me. I don't remember exactly how old I was though-- nine? We were walking through a local warehouse-turned-flea-market... and in one of the stands in a display case (it's funny how I can still picture it in my mind so many years later)... on the top glass shelf on the left-hand side, behind a folded pocket knife that was meant to look like it was decorated by a mosaic of ebony/ivory... a forest scene, perhaps (it's neat how as you grow and learn more, your mind is able to fill in the gaps of childhood memories), rested the most beautiful snow globe I had ever seen in my life. The base was etched with jungle foliage--deep shades of green; it reminded me of the movie "Jumanji". Underneath the dome stood an acacia tree (I was a giraffe "know it all" and decided that it just HAD to be an acacia tree since that's their favorite snack) beside a mother giraffe and her calf. The thin filaments of confetti in the water gave off an aura of enchantment. But there was more. When the silver oblong crank on the bottom of the base was twisted (my parents had the man behind the counter try it out), the song "Close to You" by The Carpenters chimed out in a lilting fashion (depending on how many times the gear triggers were raveled). That was the first time I witnessed real magic. We left without it, though. I was crushed. I remember moping the entire way back home in the car--sandwiched between my older sisters in the back seat--probably playing a not-so-endearing 'game' of elbow wars and "she's taking up too much room and squishing me!". Forlorn and grumpier than ever. When we went back some time later--it was already gone. My heart shattered. After a while, I forgot about it--at least in the foreground of my mind. Months went by and winter came around. That Christmas--after all of the other gifts were unwrapped--there was one more with my name on it. "Pookie" [stop laughing; it's what my whole family called/calls me and I still don't quite understand why]. It was the snow globe. My parents were the ones who bought it from the vendor--they just held onto it all that time--letting me think it was gone forever. The giraffes always symbolized my Mom and I... and "Close to You" became our song. I've moved around quite a bit since then... even across the country for a while... still, that snow globe stays with me. But this story isn't about the globe. It's about a different journey... one that has been in the works for over a year now. I was waiting for it to sink in. And by all other facets of realization--it should have by now. But it hasn't. Not yet. My Mom--the same woman I've inherited my overabundant love of sentimentality from--the one who could turn a few dollars into a most cherished treasure just by putting some extra special touches to it... like a handwritten note or a stuffed-animal introduction and full imaginative backstory (yes, Mom, I'm talking about "Millie Ford" the giraffe)--she needs me now. After all of the hell I put her through growing up... even as far back as her high risk and complication-filled pregnancy with me... I finally have a chance to say 'thank you' and 'I love you' in a way that I never thought would be possible. I'm lucky. In just a few weeks, I'm going to be the bone marrow transplant donor of the woman who battled through all of the worries, fears, emergencies, hospital stays, and obstacles just to bring me into this world. Her blood cells are going to essentially become replications of mine--we'll be sharing DNA on a whole different level. I hadn't realized that our song, "Close to You" would foreshadow an eventual symbiosis--it's even more perfect now. The other day, while I was sitting downstairs at the kitchen table, my parents walked up to me with a small box--my Mom with a knowing smirk on her face. There might have even been the hint of a tear forming in the corner of her eye--the one she can't quite wink properly... I looked at her, not sure of the occasion, and lifted the lid. Inside was a delicately formed gold necklace... two giraffes... a mother and her baby... their heads nestled together to form a heart. She said that she wanted to find a small way to show me how much it means to her that I was a match for the transplant and willing to go through with it [as if I ever wouldn't have]. My sister, Tristina (the same one I was undoubtedly elbowing in the back seat of the station wagon on the melancholy drive home from the flea market that one afternoon when I was nine years old) helped her find just the thing. A forever reminder of our Mother/Daughter journeys throughout the years and all of the adventures we have yet to look forward to together. I started to cry. It's perfect. --- Why do birds suddenly appear Every time you are near? Just like me, they long to be Close to you Why do stars fall down from the sky Every time you walk by? Just like me, they long to be Close to you --- I love you, Mom. I love you, Dad. [I even love you, Jenny and Trissy.] We're going to get through this.
Kaleidoscopic Grace 