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| Legos should never get too comfortable in their Lego boxes when in the Damaske household |
Of course, I was hoping (and sort of even cautiously assuming) that I would test negative for the mutation. I might have even had a developing post in my head, thanking my lucky stars for landing in the far better half of the 50/50 odds (isn't that sort of sad? that I can't even use that line?). But, I didn't test negative and though I've known this for awhile, I haven't the slightest idea what to say about it. It's bad, of course; its best solution will result in physical losses that hardly seem real and it threatens its own sort of mental havoc, but really, all it boils down to is here is a fact about me I now know; decisions have been made, doctors have been consulted, and it seems like my only choice now is to move forward in misery or in good humor. And my gosh, how dare I choose the former.
I keep thinking about this talented, warm-spirited, extremely young teacher in Danvers, swept away a week ago from a seemingly full life where she appeared to be so very present. She has a pinterest page that I looked at for a good long time and while I know very little about pinterest and how much goes into maintaining one's page, she clearly put thought and love into hers. She had plans for Halloween on there, but also plans for Christmas, and dreams about specials details she would include on her wedding day after she found her future husband, and even ideas for different things she would do with her children when they arrived.
The page itself, in all its thoughtful detail, reveals so much about this vibrant woman, what she treasured and where she wanted to go, and it is heart wrenching that all of that is now shattered. But for some reason, looking at it made me feel a shred better. It allows the person who never knew her (but would have loved to know her) to envision her future exactly as she wanted it; I can see what she adored and imagined for herself with no other strings attached. To me, it all plays out as she has it designed on her page and in her mind: In my vision of Colleen Ritzer, she does get to visit the Full House home in San Francisco, and she does get to wear her hair exactly the way it looks on several of the pictures she pinned for her someday wedding day, and she does take a photo of her young daughter in her wedding dress so that she can give that picture to her daughter on her own wedding day. I never knew her, but I wonder if she'd like us to click through her pinned pages as we would flip through a film strip, thinking yes, this is her life, this is how the pieces all flowed together.
None of us have any idea how outside factors are going to fuck with our plans, no matter how damn hard we think about them. Sometimes, horribly, entirely unexpectedly, time just freezes in the midst of living. You are thinking about your day, how you are going to reach out to a friend or child in need, you are planning your weekend, you are feeling good about things, and then, abruptly, it's snatched away from you. Here's a person, it seems, who loved what she was doing as she was doing it, appreciated what she had while it was happening, thought about her future while enjoying the moment, and taught, at a very young age, values that some, so much older, never learn. She has in the past week become well known for a tweet she sent out this summer: "No matter what happens in life, be good to people. Being good is a wonderful legacy to leave behind." Twenty four years old and she completely got it.
Once in awhile, for those of us who are here, we are subtly reminded to look around for a moment, enjoy this, take it in. I have spent the last couple of months meeting with doctors, talking through statistics relating to the gene mutation I officially carry. I've been asked to think about my own priorities and to make choices concerning what I'm willing to do to myself in order to prevent the probable life-threatening outcomes. You need only take the tiniest step back from the world you are so wrapped up in to find immediate perspective. If I'd had the courage when I was young, as Colleen did, to lay out just what I wanted out of life and make it known to anyone other than myself, I think I'd be just about out of other things to want at this point, aside from having my mom in the picture. How dare I threaten in any way what I have now. So, yeah, off with the boobs, out with the tubes, goodbye to the ovaries, but I'd love the rest of me to stick around. You get the head's up about something like this, you better consider yourself one of the lucky ones.
And there it is, the message I've been trying to figure out; it comes to me as I write and I realize, of course, that there's nothing new about it. It's the outlook I must have had before because once I was a kid and thought like a kid. And then, later on, my children arrived and began to reteach me the crucial lesson. Be present, be here, it's a moment, just a flash. This is where joy is easily accessible and empathy most effective. Take this in; you only have a moment.
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| I look sweet, but just try and put me in a carriage when I'd rather be walking |
Two hours later, same day, Noah asked me to please clean up the bathroom floor because he was "dancing while he was peeing" (and maybe I'm the only one who thinks that's sort of awesome). These moments are tiny but outrageous; they are blips that are bulging with life. I write them down, I take pictures, I stare at Noah and Gracie's hands as they hold one another's. I need to store it, hold onto the memories while collecting the next ones. It's easy to have setbacks from exhaustion and impatience - I have plenty of them - but by the end of each day, when all is quiet and the house is asleep, I find my way right back. I miss my wild ones. I sneak into their rooms and look and there they are. How can I not thank my lucky stars that despite everything else, I have this, right now.
