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.
Narration. Sorry about the two random dings somewhere in the middle.
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.
She always confused this band with Hootie and the Blowfish.
Kaleidoscopic Grace 