hannah and caroline and me
(part thirty four)
((she's almost a first grader))
it would be cliche for me to say something like "it's hard to believe this year has gone by so fast." or "hannah, can you believe that you are almost out of kindergarten?" like people are wont to say. or hear things like "soak it in. she'll be grown up and gone before you know it." and think "yeah, you're right" and nod my head in approval. this year has not gone by fast, though, even in hindsight. not a day of it.
i vividly remember walking hannah to her class on the first day of school. i remember what she looked like with that big backpack on walking away from my car the first time i dropped her off. i remember grilling her about her day every time i pick her up from the church after work. i remember her doing homework. i remember checking her out because she didn't "feel good". i remember her reading a bedtime story to us. her first real school year has gone by exactly as it should in exactly the right amount of time, and i am happy for that.
there aren't many silver linings to losing a kidney to a cancer that you didn't ask for, but slowing down the ever increasing pace of life has been one of them. even though i have no reason to believe otherwise, if someone says to me, "she'll be grown and gone before you know it", i cringe and hope that i am alive to see her leave. if someone tells me that she looks "so big", i nod my head and approve not because i am being considerate but because i am absolutely terrified that i will not be able to guide her or caroline through the trials of being a teenager.
god, cancer fucking sucks!!! it took a part of me. it takes bigger parts of others. the unluckiest may lose it all. it destroys or, at the very least, affects lives in the same peripherally damaging way as divorce. who knows how many grey hairs i've added to sarah's head or how many years i've shaved off her and my closest friends' lives with my inability to celebrate that i was one of "the lucky ones", instead replacing my doctor's orders to eat, drink and be merry with elephant-sized worry.
i used to dream. a lot. i never remember my dreams any more. not since last summer. why is that? i digress further.
time has slowed down significantly for me. that's for sure. i hope that it remains this way for a while. each day with the girls is one more opportunity to love them and kiss them and tickle them and then whisk them away to bed so i can watch the next to last episode of LOST.
hannah's a smart, no-longer-little girl. she was proud of herself this morning that she has received a green, smiley face every day of her kindergarten year. she should be proud.
she's ready for first grade.
yep.
4 comments:
Cancer does suck. I hate cancer.
It's hard to believe that Hannah ever couldn't (or rather, refused to) talk around me, and now she's ready for first grade.
You know 'my' battle with cancer, and a lot of things in this entry hit me hard. Those girls are lucky to have you and Sarah, and I guess the only thing you can do is to make the most of each day, but you don't need me to tell you that.
Fuck cancer, seriously.
Interesting that you said you never remember dreams anymore. I was going to write some regarding my experience with dreaming since starting the AT, but my lazy ass never did it. Needless to say, it's something I'll talk with you with if we can ever find some time to converse.
At the risk of adding to the morbid thoughts- you know that the Buddhists recommend meditating on death. They feel that the more someone is aware of their mortality, the more they will focus on the present moment in their daily lives. It sucks to have that mentality thrust upon you through illness, but perhaps the silver lining is the appreciation for the little joys that just being alive each day can bring you.
On a lighter note- I can't believe Lexie is going into first grade either. I really can't believe that next year will be Lane's LAST year of elementary school, Lauren's LAST year of middle school, and Lindsey's junior year of high school. Brad and I already get teary eyed when we think about only having two more years- not just with Lindsey, but with our family "whole." :(
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