My friend Angie sent me an email and asked if I would contribute an experience for the book she is compiling. As I read the email, I thought of experiences which have helped me choose to really live and yet, I was terrified to share my thoughts for fear of opening myself up and letting others see a glimpse of my soul.
This is my story.
“I dreamed dreams. And I think I dreamed them into
children…and the children are carrying them out…doing all the things I wanted
to and couldn’t.” (A Lantern in Her Hand by Bess Streeter Aldrich)
I stood at the window and waved as my parents drove away,
leaving my 7 year-old brother, 2 1/2 year old sister, and my 5 year-old self with our grandparents. My
mom had recently been diagnosed with an autoimmune disease and my dad was
having seizures and would eventually require major surgery. Our younger sister
stayed with my parents when my dad had surgery and there were several times I felt resentment towards
her and wished I was the one who could stay with my parents instead of living
with grandparents and other family and friends. My brother adapted well to the
separation and enjoyed the trips to Lagoon and Magic Waters. Me? I cried every
night and begged to talk to my parents and became even more quiet and reserved.
The decision my parents made had to be one of the most difficult and I know it
ripped at their hearts for the family to be separated for a time and yet it was
the best option. A few weeks later, I remember sitting on the porch with my
mom, asking if dad was going to die and what would happen to our family. My mom
scooped me into her arms and explained that the surgery would be long and the
hope was the doctors would be able to help dad feel better and that he would
recover and be stronger than ever. She then asked me to name all the people who
loved me and would always love me, even if not here on earth. “You. Dad.
Grandma. Grandpa…”
My dad did survive the surgery and our family was again
united. My mom’s health took a turn for the worst and time and time again, the
parental roles were blurred and we all adapted. My dad played racquetball in
the morning and then returned home to make us breakfast, braid my hair, and
then take us to school. I would rush home from school and call out my mom’s
name, even though I knew where to find her if she wasn't in the living room awaiting my arrival-her room. I climbed onto the bed and
we talked about the day and my hopes and dreams for life. Looking back, I
recognize so many times when my mom attended my spelling bees, choir concerts,
church functions, and sporting events even when she wasn’t feeling well. For
her, really living was seeing her children excel and letting go of things that
she may have wanted to do, in order to support us. To this day, I will enter my
parent’s home and escape to my mom’s room and talk about life. Successes.
Shortcomings. Hopes and dreams. Heartache. It’s a place of refuge where the
ills of the world are shielded by the love of a mother.
In all of this, I have learned that we are not limited by
what we perceive as our window to the world. We can see and do so much more. I
can live the life I want and I define whom I will be and what I allow to
dictate my achievements. My mom’s battle with her illness continues to teach me
of the importance of living one’s dreams and not settling for less. There are
many days my mom doesn’t leave the house because she is not feeling well and
she could feel confined and defined by the limited view outside her living room
window. Instead, she sees the trees and thinks of her father and his love of
nature. She hears children outside and envisions her grandchildren wherever
they may be. She knows the schedule of her children and imagines them living
their dreams which have become her own dreams. I often have to remind myself
that this is my life and it does no good to compare my reality to those around
me, including those who have the life I think I want. This is my reality. My truth. And I choose
each day how I will live and I choose to reach for my fullest potential,
knowing that I may fall, and yet, I will get back up and try again. I choose to
live.
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