Defining moments

There are those moments in our life that we can remember as clearly as they were yesterday. We know exactly what the weather was like, how the air smelled, and exactly what we were doing. For some it is major events such as when JFK was shot, when we first declared war on Iraq, or even as recently as September 11^th. But there are other moments. Moments that are sacred only to ourselves and maybe one or two of our closest friends or relatives. These are our memories, ones that we rarely share with others. After all these years they can still cause us to squirm with the willies, or choke up trying to hold back the tears. But this is also what makes us who we are as a species, one that learns from past events and helps define who we are (the eternal question of course).

It is two weeks before Thanksgiving. I still remember walking along that sidewalk from school, kinda skipping, or kicking loose rocks but wanting to get home as quick as possible to get some cookies. There was a curve in the sidewalk right before my house and I take it on a short jog, and I see my mother sitting on the front steps. Her old blue jeans on, the ones she usually wears when doing housework or drudgery shopping. A glass of wine in her left hand and a glazed look as she stares without seeing the cars on our street. Oh she tries to put on a brave face when I come up the steps throwing my backpack down, but I know something is amiss. “Its about Kaitlin” I hear. Well over the past 11 months there have been lots of things Kaitlin, that wonderfully sweat girl of a tender age of 7 who was diagnosed with late stage Pancreatic cancer. With visits multiple times a month, I was getting used to the rollercoaster that encompasses that hateful disease of Cancer. The nausea, the balding, the weakness that is so strong that even the act of opening her eyelids would cause beads of sweat to form. She could not eat, but yet she was hungry. She could not sleep yet she was exhausted. But no this day was different than all the other days when I would try to comfort my mother, for this was to be the last such day when we would be getting updates.

The organ was on the left with a choir, her school choir. The wooden Jesus hanging on a cross looking down straight in front. A look of pained godliness on his face that he had no right to bare during this service, for what sins could be so egregious that a 7 year old had to pay the ultimate price. This was more than my juvenile mind could comprehend. But anger and pain resounded through my body. Was this the first time there was something that caused my mother such pain that she could not hold her emotions in public? Was my mother actually fallible?

It has taken many experiences later in life with all manner of accidents and diseases before I have started to drive the road of understanding and acceptance of things that are outside all of our hands. I will certainly train and do everything I can to stop that vengeful angel, but so much is outside of our hands. But yet on Friday I received a piece of advice that has become a major intersection on this road. Grave sickness and injury is a flare or signal to acknowledge, nay celebrate life. To recognize what one has, and enjoy it every day (thanks L.L.). So Ben, we are there with you, in that room with the beeps and the squiggly lines, and the curtains with the pastel colors, the pink/purple dishes, and the bed with hinges that squeak at the slightest movement. We will always be with you in that room or anywhere you might go! So fight the fight we know you will win, do not go gently into that sweet night. You are a fighter, and it will not take another victim in you, for you have the support of loved ones and friends. And you have love on your side. We are there with you Ben, every step of the way.