One Moment More

This past week, there has been a daily reminder of how very blessed I am. How short and sweet life is. How it seems and amazing for some, and just full of heart-wrenching trials for others. And how sometimes that can be so very opposite of what it appears.

A week ago I sat and listened to a bestie's strength, in seeing her dear sister hold her new baby for the first time with a scarf on her bare head and a sick stomach. Fighting breast cancer at only 52 years old. Facing mortality with a family who adored her and daughters who needed her there to be a grandma. Fifty-two years old. The exact same age my mom was when she watched my first baby come into the world. Almost 15 years ago. Fifty-two. Cancer-free and "fair."

The night before that, I had sat at a Carly's first softball game, surrounded by a few dozen other young to middle-aged parents watching their daughters - full of dreams and wishes for future athletes - future princesses. There was a younger sister of one of these athletes there who had no hair, and was toddling around on her unbalanced feet. Only she wasn't 13 months old. She was about Emily's age. Maybe 9 or 10. Her head was bald but for a few wispy hairs around her beautiful face with a constant smile. She had a scar on one side of her head in a faint "C" that screamed "courage" to all who tried not to stare. Sweet Emily watched this girl pet Bella and talk to her family. Em asked me what had happened to her. It's amazing how hard it is to say certain words to a daughter of the same age when I look at her and think..."why not her?" I couldn't answer. I sent her to the one who doesn't break down crying at a softball game with the parents nearby. The parents who probably wonder often why life isn't fair.

The week went on, and daily there seemed to be someone affected by the unfairness. Someone too young, too beautiful, too happy. Too kind and good to be knowing what it feels like to be facing less than a year left with their 3 year old granddaughter who has a brain tumor. And too filled with faith than I could ever imagine.....Not angry. Not bitter. Just filled with gratitude. Grace. Peace. Love.

Spring break just ended a week ago, and I was reminded once again how much my husband gets it: how much he loves to be with the kids and live in the moment. To play with them, to laugh with them, to give them moments to be kids. To windsurf with them, swim with them, find shells with them and make memories. To put any time for himself aside til he is all-gray and the pitter-patter of little-feet have turned into stinky sneakers that have gone off to college. He gets it. And I am forever, forever getting there.....

A sweet reminder happened (AGAIN) this morning of this sweetness. In the past few months, I found one of my very favorite photograhers. Her un-posed, joyful photos just take my breath away. I emailed her to sing her praises, and in seeing her recent blog, I shared a song with her that I discovered this morning. (thank you, Pandora...you are a gift. ) I can finally listen to the song without tears, but could only get thru this video one time. My eyes are too red!

Wishing that my life can be full of endless "Phin Moments" and a memory that holds tight days like today: A blond little boy, almost 6 years old, with a first-lose tooth he wiggles daily now; bursting with pride. The sound of two size 1 feet sprinting to the car after preschool, so he could keep his new-found treasure. Him checking on (read - letting go of!) the prize to make sure it was breathing. The challenge of driving down the street while a frog jumps up into the seat next to me and this little hunter scrambles around to find it. Arriving home with the mental list of what I hadn't got done today, and could do quickly if he played outside with the neighbor boy. But hearing these words: "Whaddya wanna name him, Mom?" Hearing, "You wanna hold it, Mom?" Saying "Of course!" and knowing that it isn't always wrong to lie.

The slimy feel of "Blackie's" skin. The joy on the little boy's face when we find just the right container in the shed. The puffed out chest when our sweet mailman obeyed his command to come see his new friend. That he captured. And brought home. By himself.

And with Mom....

http://www.jchaney.com/blog/phin-halligan-a-slideshow-of-a-childs-brave-and-heartbreaking-cancer-journey/

"but the biggest mistake I made is the one that most of us make while doing this. I did not live in the moment enough. This is particularly clear now that the moment is gone, captured only in photographs. There is one picture of the three on them sitting in the grass on a quilt in the shadow of the swing set on a summer day, ages 6, 4, and 1. And I wish I could remember what we ate, and what we talked about, and how they sounded, and how they looked when they slept that night. I wish I had not been in a hurry to get on to the next things: dinner, bath, book, bed. I wish I had treasured the doing a little more and the getting it done a little less."
— Anna Quindlen