Day 5 of school. We drive up and my buddy boy says “I don’t like this school. I want to go to my old one”. I explain that it takes a while to get used to new things, all the while my heart hurting.
Am I wrong to put my 3 year old in a school already? Doesn’t he have the rest of his life to learn and listen and follow directions? Should he just be playing for now?
I don’t have these answers. I ask him what he wants to do and he says “Play picnic with Franklin”. Oh god, I think, please let Franklin want to play with him. We go inside and he just wants to find Franklin—the one friend he’s made in this huge classroom. He grabs onto his new life vest (Franklin), asks if he wants to play picnic. “No,” Franklin replies. I blink back tears and bend down closer. “Maybe you guys want to do what Franklin is playing with right now,” I suggest. My boy quickly adapts, hunkering down next to his new and only friend, content at the suggestion.
I kiss him and leave. The past 2 days, he’s cried at the window as I walked out. I bless Franklin and his presence today, but worry for tomorrow and the next and the next.
This is a boy whose joy shines through a crowd, who sang at the top of his lungs and the front of his class all throughout coop, who wears two different pairs of shoes and couldn’t care what anyone thought. He still wears pajamas to the coffee shop on the weekends. Is it so soon after integrating into society that they begin to doubt themselves? Will my own heart ever recover? How do I tell him--- and make him believe—that who he is will always be good enough?
But tomorrow I will bring him again. I will hope that Franklin is there, or maybe that someone else might want to play picnic. I will hope and pray that everyone can see how special, how sweet, how innocent and real my boy is. And I will swallow my worry and blink back my tears and trust that this is the plan. I only hope the reason is clear before my heart breaks.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
The Walk
DAY ONE
My husband came to wake me up at 4:45am. “I don’t want to” I said, but got up anyhow. Dressed and ready to go, we picked up Alix and he adventure began. We were standing outside the car as she came downstairs and must have looked like Mom and Dad waiting for her there in the dark. Somehow we convinced Brad to stop at the only coffee shop that opened at 5:30am—though we were told to be at the starting line at 5:00. We stood outside waving at the barista until she kindly opened the door for us, got some of the best coffee I’ve ever had, and were on our way. (thanks to coffee angel at Ladro).
The check in was easier than saying goodbye to Brad, and we had our first rendezvous with the port-a-potty line. A quick cheering session and we were off.
The first few miles were easy. The crowd slowed down our progress and we got into the spirit of the cars who were honking and waving as we cause an early morning traffic jam on 405. We sailed across the I-90 bridge as the sun shone down on us, up Lake Washington Boulevard and onto pit stops and lunch at Mt Baker Park.
We came upon a rare group of men with pink shirts on. The back of the leader’s said “In memory of my wife, Tana”. Tears welled up as we watched his proud stride. Later that night, we would overhear a woman telling him she was proud of him. He would reply “I’m proud of myself, too—but I’m more proud of Tana.”
The reality of our bodies set in. The sun was out now, and the route not as scenic. We headed south on Rainier Avenue through Renton and into Burien. This was hard. There were no trees for shade, no one cheering for us outside of the route vans, and the miles were coming slowly. I was uncomfortable and Alix tried to help but I ignored her. As we pulled into a pit stop, one volunteer yelled “14 mile mark!” I glared at her and said to Alix that I wanted to punch that lady in the face. I meant it.
Alix’ turn. The last 10 miles (YES 10…the route on Day 1 was 25 miles, not 20) Alix was sore, hot and tired. She swerved in and out of the yellow line, and I made her walk inside of me. The side of the highway was loud, dirty and hot. There was no sidewalk. It felt unsafe and unfun. Camp finally came into view and we grabbed our bags, put up our tent, showered in the truck, ate tons of spaghetti and passed out.
DAY TWO
Day 2 had to be the worst morning ever. Alix’ blisters tripled overnight, my back was hurting and just about every muscle in my body protested as I got out of the warm sleeping bag and into the dark, damp and cold morning. Whose idea was this anyhow??
The insane walker group lined up to leave at 6:30am while I dragged myself to breakfast. We left crabby and sore, walking very slowly and quietly out of camp with one of the last groups. My body and mind warmed up as I looked forward to seeing my family along the route. We walked faster to make up time. We hopped a ride to a further stop. Faster still, until Alix found her parents and I tracked down my beautiful children and sweet husband. Nothing had ever looked so wonderful! Hugs and tears, popsicles, thank yous and kisses as the crowd cheered us on and on. Hooray!
Leaving has never been so hard but I got a piece of myself back at that stop. We hugged as we left and Alix said how she loved me. And Oh how I loved that girl!
We passed yet another group of cheerers and one of them stood with her hair just growing back in, tears in her eyes. A walker in front of us with a survivor hat on swerved towards her, grabbed her arm, and said “hang in there…it gets better.”
A beautiful lunch at Saltwater State Park revived us and the rest of the walk went on. But Alix’ feet kept growing blisters and we had to ride the last 3 miles with another day ahead of us and not knowing how we would do that without this rest. Proud and tired, we got to camp around 3pm, learned how to wrap our feet for the next day and listened to amazing stories of hope from walkers who were also breast cancer survivors.
Everywhere I looked or went, they were there. With their pink hats and soul moving stories, these women inspired through their toughness, their appreciation and their smiles. What were a few blisters after what we heard?
DAY THREE
Easier to get up today for me, harder for Alix. At 5am, I hear my wake up call: “Its cold, its wet and I’m tired.” I try to think of how to cheer her, taking a photo of her in the dark. She smiles for a little while, even though she has some choice words for me…
We set out breaking down the tent, packing up, throwing things on the truck and wrapping up our feet. Flip-flops in our backpacks today. We’re headed home!
Bus to Lincoln Park, this was my territory. Past Dad’s old street, down to Beach Drive, around to Alki and Gram’s old house. Beauty and wind and cheering surrounded us! Then my family! What a day. On to see Kathy down the way with big hugs and laughs. Through Sodo with everyone yelling for us! Horns honking, adrenaline pumping, Alix’ feet somehow carrying her on.
Flip Flops at Safeco Field rest stop. 3 more miles!! Through our wonderful city, more cheers, thank yous and well wishes. We became surrounded by a team of ladies called “Jilly Bean Jammers”. They practice their song as we get closer to Memorial Stadium: “I don’t know but I’ve been told- This damn walk is getting old- but we’ll keep walking, yes we will- in memory of our dear friend Jill.” Emotions overwhelm me.
I round the corner and the gauntlet is there. Cheering, signs, flowers, tears and thank yous. I spot a group of beautiful children holding up a huge sign with a photo of a lovely lady on it. It reads “Thank you for walking for my Mom, Jill”. This is their dear friend—these are her children—I cannot imagine.
Then I hear my name and my kids and husband are embracing me! I did it! I can’t believe it and I never want to let them go again. Even the cheers as we enter the stadium for closing ceremonies doesn’t compare to having my kids in my arms again. My 3 year old asks if I’m all done walking…I emphatically answer YES!
I am so happy I did this. Thank you, body, for taking this journey! I am so proud that Alix walked beside me, with just half of one foot intact, the spirit carrying us on. The spirit of Tana and her husband; of Kristin from West Seattle who will rock her grandbabies to sleep; of Jill and her beautiful children, her loving friends; of the lady for whom I can only hope it “gets better”; of the dragon lady crossing guard who survives; of the wife of the motorcycle volunteer who battles on; of Joanne from Redmond who wasn’t strong enough last year after chemo but did it this year; of mine and Alix’ aunts who won the fight; and all the generations to come- including my own baby girl’s- for whom I can only hope this walk is but a story from long ago…back when there was breast cancer.
My husband came to wake me up at 4:45am. “I don’t want to” I said, but got up anyhow. Dressed and ready to go, we picked up Alix and he adventure began. We were standing outside the car as she came downstairs and must have looked like Mom and Dad waiting for her there in the dark. Somehow we convinced Brad to stop at the only coffee shop that opened at 5:30am—though we were told to be at the starting line at 5:00. We stood outside waving at the barista until she kindly opened the door for us, got some of the best coffee I’ve ever had, and were on our way. (thanks to coffee angel at Ladro).
The check in was easier than saying goodbye to Brad, and we had our first rendezvous with the port-a-potty line. A quick cheering session and we were off.
The first few miles were easy. The crowd slowed down our progress and we got into the spirit of the cars who were honking and waving as we cause an early morning traffic jam on 405. We sailed across the I-90 bridge as the sun shone down on us, up Lake Washington Boulevard and onto pit stops and lunch at Mt Baker Park.
We came upon a rare group of men with pink shirts on. The back of the leader’s said “In memory of my wife, Tana”. Tears welled up as we watched his proud stride. Later that night, we would overhear a woman telling him she was proud of him. He would reply “I’m proud of myself, too—but I’m more proud of Tana.”
The reality of our bodies set in. The sun was out now, and the route not as scenic. We headed south on Rainier Avenue through Renton and into Burien. This was hard. There were no trees for shade, no one cheering for us outside of the route vans, and the miles were coming slowly. I was uncomfortable and Alix tried to help but I ignored her. As we pulled into a pit stop, one volunteer yelled “14 mile mark!” I glared at her and said to Alix that I wanted to punch that lady in the face. I meant it.
Alix’ turn. The last 10 miles (YES 10…the route on Day 1 was 25 miles, not 20) Alix was sore, hot and tired. She swerved in and out of the yellow line, and I made her walk inside of me. The side of the highway was loud, dirty and hot. There was no sidewalk. It felt unsafe and unfun. Camp finally came into view and we grabbed our bags, put up our tent, showered in the truck, ate tons of spaghetti and passed out.
DAY TWO
Day 2 had to be the worst morning ever. Alix’ blisters tripled overnight, my back was hurting and just about every muscle in my body protested as I got out of the warm sleeping bag and into the dark, damp and cold morning. Whose idea was this anyhow??
The insane walker group lined up to leave at 6:30am while I dragged myself to breakfast. We left crabby and sore, walking very slowly and quietly out of camp with one of the last groups. My body and mind warmed up as I looked forward to seeing my family along the route. We walked faster to make up time. We hopped a ride to a further stop. Faster still, until Alix found her parents and I tracked down my beautiful children and sweet husband. Nothing had ever looked so wonderful! Hugs and tears, popsicles, thank yous and kisses as the crowd cheered us on and on. Hooray!
Leaving has never been so hard but I got a piece of myself back at that stop. We hugged as we left and Alix said how she loved me. And Oh how I loved that girl!
We passed yet another group of cheerers and one of them stood with her hair just growing back in, tears in her eyes. A walker in front of us with a survivor hat on swerved towards her, grabbed her arm, and said “hang in there…it gets better.”
A beautiful lunch at Saltwater State Park revived us and the rest of the walk went on. But Alix’ feet kept growing blisters and we had to ride the last 3 miles with another day ahead of us and not knowing how we would do that without this rest. Proud and tired, we got to camp around 3pm, learned how to wrap our feet for the next day and listened to amazing stories of hope from walkers who were also breast cancer survivors.
Everywhere I looked or went, they were there. With their pink hats and soul moving stories, these women inspired through their toughness, their appreciation and their smiles. What were a few blisters after what we heard?
DAY THREE
Easier to get up today for me, harder for Alix. At 5am, I hear my wake up call: “Its cold, its wet and I’m tired.” I try to think of how to cheer her, taking a photo of her in the dark. She smiles for a little while, even though she has some choice words for me…
We set out breaking down the tent, packing up, throwing things on the truck and wrapping up our feet. Flip-flops in our backpacks today. We’re headed home!
Bus to Lincoln Park, this was my territory. Past Dad’s old street, down to Beach Drive, around to Alki and Gram’s old house. Beauty and wind and cheering surrounded us! Then my family! What a day. On to see Kathy down the way with big hugs and laughs. Through Sodo with everyone yelling for us! Horns honking, adrenaline pumping, Alix’ feet somehow carrying her on.
Flip Flops at Safeco Field rest stop. 3 more miles!! Through our wonderful city, more cheers, thank yous and well wishes. We became surrounded by a team of ladies called “Jilly Bean Jammers”. They practice their song as we get closer to Memorial Stadium: “I don’t know but I’ve been told- This damn walk is getting old- but we’ll keep walking, yes we will- in memory of our dear friend Jill.” Emotions overwhelm me.
I round the corner and the gauntlet is there. Cheering, signs, flowers, tears and thank yous. I spot a group of beautiful children holding up a huge sign with a photo of a lovely lady on it. It reads “Thank you for walking for my Mom, Jill”. This is their dear friend—these are her children—I cannot imagine.
Then I hear my name and my kids and husband are embracing me! I did it! I can’t believe it and I never want to let them go again. Even the cheers as we enter the stadium for closing ceremonies doesn’t compare to having my kids in my arms again. My 3 year old asks if I’m all done walking…I emphatically answer YES!
I am so happy I did this. Thank you, body, for taking this journey! I am so proud that Alix walked beside me, with just half of one foot intact, the spirit carrying us on. The spirit of Tana and her husband; of Kristin from West Seattle who will rock her grandbabies to sleep; of Jill and her beautiful children, her loving friends; of the lady for whom I can only hope it “gets better”; of the dragon lady crossing guard who survives; of the wife of the motorcycle volunteer who battles on; of Joanne from Redmond who wasn’t strong enough last year after chemo but did it this year; of mine and Alix’ aunts who won the fight; and all the generations to come- including my own baby girl’s- for whom I can only hope this walk is but a story from long ago…back when there was breast cancer.
Thursday, September 6, 2007
Maybe
Tomorrow I embark on a 3-day walk to raise money for breast cancer. I can’t think of why. I mean-- I know this is a great cause and I know I believe in it and feel good about what I am doing, but I am not highly motivated by the cause alone (this is the first time I’ve admitted to that).
My aunt had breast cancer, but unlike some of my friends, I don’t live in fear of it. I may or may not get it. If I do, I will get rid of it. I’ve always believed that…so maybe this is my way of thanking them for that option.
As I’ve walked, I’ve felt resistance from my body. My 2 children in 2 years, tired, aging body. Maybe this is a way to tell it I’m still in charge. I don’t know for sure if that will prolong my life, but I can hope so. That in pushing it and telling it what to do, someday I’ll see my grandchildren do the same.
And I’ve been astonished by my support. The thank yous, the donations, the words of encouragement, the pride they place on my shoulders. Maybe I needed to see this gift for myself—this ever-present gift of community, of friendship, of love that we have built through the years.
Maybe I also need to thank the Walk for that.
Or maybe I just need to thank the universe for letting my body do this…for giving me the love and support to do so…for my family for giving me the time to find out I could do it…for the ladies and men who need someone like me to walk for them, because they cannot…for all it of being here for the taking.
Maybe I do know why.
My aunt had breast cancer, but unlike some of my friends, I don’t live in fear of it. I may or may not get it. If I do, I will get rid of it. I’ve always believed that…so maybe this is my way of thanking them for that option.
As I’ve walked, I’ve felt resistance from my body. My 2 children in 2 years, tired, aging body. Maybe this is a way to tell it I’m still in charge. I don’t know for sure if that will prolong my life, but I can hope so. That in pushing it and telling it what to do, someday I’ll see my grandchildren do the same.
And I’ve been astonished by my support. The thank yous, the donations, the words of encouragement, the pride they place on my shoulders. Maybe I needed to see this gift for myself—this ever-present gift of community, of friendship, of love that we have built through the years.
Maybe I also need to thank the Walk for that.
Or maybe I just need to thank the universe for letting my body do this…for giving me the love and support to do so…for my family for giving me the time to find out I could do it…for the ladies and men who need someone like me to walk for them, because they cannot…for all it of being here for the taking.
Maybe I do know why.
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
First Day of School
My first baby started school today. Preschool, just 3 days a week, but I couldn’t help but think a step into adulthood. We’ve been talking about it for quite some time, he likes to get used to ideas before they are sprung on him. He was excited and a little anxious, but being who he is, didn’t want to show his anxiety. It manifested in a little more poking around the house, procrastinating getting out the door.
As we were walking up to the classroom, I thought of how anxious I was every first day of school and how not to put them upon him. I found myself feeling butterflies in my stomach, and the perspective of a parent, which I never had considered in all my years of dreading the first day of school. Who knew that my Mom may have been just as nervous and I? May have wondered if I would make friends, remain true to myself while learning to conform to society, find joy in the world and still connect with my parents while trying to spread my own wings? Wishing that all that lies ahead of me is a world of hope and opportunity… and I myself wish that my own decisions are the right ones for my little ones.
I never knew.
I never knew that all that was contained in this small being could find the most passionate, strongest emotions inside of me. How I would do anything to make the world a place of discovery and acceptance. I felt his little hand inside mine and wished it there- that same size- forever.
But he let go of it after surveying the room for just a minute or two. I found him in front of a full-length mirror, making faces at himself and smiling. I read the handout that I received as I walked in the door, and it said “For separation anxiety, we’ve found that quick goodbyes are the best.”
Was this advice for him or for me?
I looked at his screwed up face in the mirror and knew the answer.
As we were walking up to the classroom, I thought of how anxious I was every first day of school and how not to put them upon him. I found myself feeling butterflies in my stomach, and the perspective of a parent, which I never had considered in all my years of dreading the first day of school. Who knew that my Mom may have been just as nervous and I? May have wondered if I would make friends, remain true to myself while learning to conform to society, find joy in the world and still connect with my parents while trying to spread my own wings? Wishing that all that lies ahead of me is a world of hope and opportunity… and I myself wish that my own decisions are the right ones for my little ones.
I never knew.
I never knew that all that was contained in this small being could find the most passionate, strongest emotions inside of me. How I would do anything to make the world a place of discovery and acceptance. I felt his little hand inside mine and wished it there- that same size- forever.
But he let go of it after surveying the room for just a minute or two. I found him in front of a full-length mirror, making faces at himself and smiling. I read the handout that I received as I walked in the door, and it said “For separation anxiety, we’ve found that quick goodbyes are the best.”
Was this advice for him or for me?
I looked at his screwed up face in the mirror and knew the answer.
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