Have you ever?

 

Have you ever loved someone so much it hurts? Yeah, me too. The funny thing is that I always assumed I'd never have children. It wasn't really a conscious decision so much as I figured I'd screw it up and you wouldn't want the universe on your case for that. I wasn't actively against it, obviously, but I think there was a part of me that didn't believe I'd be fortunate enough to end up in a position of creating a family really.

And then there she was. She was mine from the instant I knew she was there. As much joy and anxiety as raising a person can give you, I had, but I was still quietly confident that I'd miss teaching her some big lesson or this good thing would be taken from me somehow. Talk about a lack of confidence in the universe. Of course, all of this was confirmed when Dr. Jimmy called me when she was one and mentioned in a flurry of words things like tumor and Scottish Rite and diagnosis.

Now I don't care what your religious thoughts are (unless they involve outer space). Whether you believe in Jesus or Allah or the Universe or nature is of no importance here. Let me assure you, though, when you hear the word tumor in reference to your baby you will beg whatever you believe in to please take this cup from your child. You will fall on your knees and plead with it to injure you instead. You will. You will. You will. I did.

For seven months I walked around hoping no one would ask me details. The pinprick of a sincere show of concern would send me reeling. Thank goodness my sister handled PR. I remember almost coming out of my pew at church when someone sang, "It is Well With My Soul" because it was most certainly not well with my soul. Poor Kenny probably thought I'd break his hand off sitting there. I did put one foot in front of the other though. I organized doctors and hospital stays and medications and I silently, in any language I knew how, begged, begged, begged for her to be okay.

One thing I thought in the hospital was that the child with only one mom praying is no different from the child with a mom and 1200 friends praying. He's just a sick baby and his mom's prayer is every bit as sincere and raw and pleading as my own. If you've ever been there, you know it's a sweaty, frantic despair that you can't escape sleeping or awake. What happens just sometimes happens and the most difficult work is in getting right with whatever happens.

So when our family was spit out 7 months later minus 1/2 a lung and an otherwise healthy baby, my getting right had to do with gaining confidence in how we handle things as they unfold. We were okay and something worse could have happened and maybe we'd still find a way to eventually be okay.

In my weaker moments, I'm sure I tried to bargain with the Universe about what I'd do if I could just keep Olivia. I'd like to think I would have wanted to teach her about things that really matter, regardless of our situation, like kindness and support and generosity because those were some of the things we had been fortunate enough to receive then.

She has no memory of being hospitalized, of being poked and cut and put back together, of morphine or fear and panic. She can't even see the scar that runs along her shoulder blade. I can though, but I don't need a reminder of the gift her life is to me. This incredible, smart, hilarious, articulate, wise, old soul is the best thing I ever had a part of doing. Sometimes at night I'll tell her, "You and me" and she says back, "Me and you" and I know that if I haven't taught her anything else, she knows that whatever happens, we'll be okay.