Monday, April 6, 2009

I believe

I believe we are the authors of our life story; there is no other that can write it and I can honestly say- it’s one of the few that no one truly knows the ending until it happens. We can think we understand why each thing is happening at the moment or as they pass us by but we don’t definitively know what is truly taking place. Our life story is something of which we can’t plan out or else it becomes moments that are planned and not life at all but a series of things we expect to happen and want to happen and we don’t even see the reality until much later.

A year ago a lot of things were going on at this time of the year but also they were hitting me at tons of different angles. Through my friends, through my family- twinges of pain and trying to understand. I want you to see some excerpts of this- going from October of 2007 to recent months to around exactly a year ago.

We had practice that night. She was sick and I was worried. She was getting worse and I couldn’t focus on what I was supposed to be doing. I don’t think the fact that the night was extremely stressful helped the situation at all…

Rehearsal ended. She was in a daze.

We got to the area in front of the senior cafeteria. I told her she needed to sit down, but instead she was leaning on me and all of a sudden all of her weight was on me.

I kept saying, “Vic… Victoria…”
No response.
She started to shake… She was having a seizure.

Oh, my God… Oh shit… Oh SHIT!... Get her down on the ground… be careful – don’t let her slam her head on the ground… Holy shit…

My mom’s yelling at me from across the cafeteria, “What’s going on?! What are you doing?!”
With wide eyes and through clenched teeth I told her, “She’s having a seizure!... Somebody needs to call an ambulance…”

I’d never felt so useless in my life. For a while I was kneeling next to her, stroking her hair or rubbing her arms. What else could I do? Once one of the band moms came over to check some things on her, I started pacing. I felt useless. There was nothing else I could do.

Hang in there, Vic.
You’re strong.
You can do this.
I’m here for you.

I’d stop and look on – this was too real. Never had I imagined…
More pacing.
Band moms were coming over and asking me if I was okay. They kept reassuring me: She’ll be okay, you know. They were worried about me as well.

I kept pacing. I just kept nodding my head.

Well I KNOW she’ll be okay – but at the moment, she’s kinda NOT.
YES, I’m okay… I think…

But I felt tears welling up, threatening to escape.

You can’t cry. You can be strong for this. Everything will be okay. It may not

seem okay now, but it will be, and you know it. Don’t cry. You’re not the

one who needs the attention right now. She does. You can’t cry.

She’s the one who needs the help… not you. You don’t need the attention

right now. She does. You can’t cry.

And I didn’t… at least until she left in the ambulance. Once she left, I guess no one could believe how calm I was through the whole thing. While me and my mom started walking toward the car, I couldn’t do anything else. It call came out. I was such a wreck that night. I cried. A lot.

At that point, I didn’t need a message sent to me the next day telling me what happened the night before. I was there. I was right there.

Photos are always intense. I have not done a photo slide show in awhile but as we reached a year of my port being placed and a year of my gall bladder removed some photos stood out looking through the file.


Sometimes silence is golden, other times silence can be used as torture. The silence I think of is not silence at all but the whooshing and whirring of machines working their job. Sometimes people say that silence can be peaceful but I almost wish some noise tonight.


Dear Mom,

These last few years have been extremely tough on you and the whole family as we try to understand what this horrible disease is and what I have in store for me. You've been a simply amazing mother, friend, provider, and spouse to Megan, dad and I. I am touched by how much you care about me and how selfless you are when it comes to the care you have to provide for me or get for me.

As I grow older I not only learn more about you and your character but I am also able to discern more about life and myself in general. You have absolute acceptance of me and you're one of the few that are able to look past the many complications that this disease has handed me. You have also shown me what it takes to love a family unconditionally and how selfless a mother must be when others are in need. Whether it is towards myself or another person that you have come in contact with. Over time you have taught me that giving to others is the best gift of all and that you shouldn’t condemn others of their shortcomings but listen to them and help them become a better person.

Thank you foremost for not only being my mother but also for the people that you have brought into my life through having you in my life. You have most definitely blessed my life in an immeasurable way and helped mold me to become the person I am today. Without you blessing my life I know that I would not be nearly as good of a person and I would probably be less confident and I wouldn’t be able to tolerate as much. When people say I am a good person I have a few people to thank for getting me to the place I am today and for giving me the insight and knowledge that I have and you are most definitely one of those people. I think the thing that I admire most about you is your ability to offer kindness to every person that walks into your life and that you can go out of your way to help someone even if you’re running late or have other plans to do that day. I will never forget the day that you stopped to take a lady from church to the mall from the bank even though we ourselves were running late to a doctor’s appointment. Your selfless approach on life is definitely something that I feel you should be noticed for and should be given acknowledgement for. Thank you so much for gracing my life with your presence and loving me unconditionally.

I want to say I love you. I can only hope that I have imparted a fraction of the love, warmth and camaraderie you have extended to me. A mere “thank you” doesn’t cut it, but thank you anyway.



Almost exactly a year ago to date:

The fear of a child is felt by all and the joy and content of a child is considered by all. If you could remove the pain of a hurting child you would do it instantly, sometimes however it takes a few Popsicles to make the pain a little less tender. A scared little girl with removed IV can quickly turn into a chick watching TV. :)

Today I think back to these moments I am amazed with how far I have come. I am faced with new things new thoughts and new obstacles but nothing too hard to overcome. I am looking head on to a moving train getting ready to step aside and hop on. Not let this ride pass me by because sometimes baby you gotta do the locomotion! C'mon baby do the loco-motion. I don't think you'll like it, we just have to chance it. I don't want my baby sister doin' it with ease... Getting of the ride now. So C'mon C'mon lets swing these tests and rock these tracks and see if we can't get home with ease. C'mon C'mon the ride will stop now.


Blogging Mama Andrea said...

Wow, you have been through so much at your age and you still have so much strength. Never doubt that you have the strength to fight and on the days when it doesn't seem you do I know others will help you find it.

Ah, I love that song. Though I first heard it when it was new and not retro! :)

Jennifer Juniper said...

What a journey. The pictures are powerful, I agree. I am so happy to see you doing well. Keep it up, girl!