In the cold, dark, fear of 3 a.m., when the cancer patient is most alone, I found ToddlerPlanet, a blog written by cancer fighting princess warrior, awesome mommy, and astrophysicist, Susan Niebur (also known as @whymommy).
Days after my diagnosis, before I learned to reign in my imagination and to view Dr.Google for what it is, I found Susan’s blog. I read for hours: post after post, page after page. It seemed she was speaking directly to me, addressing my personal concerns about life, death, love, cancer, and most important to me at that moment, the well being of my child. No sensationalism, just an honest look at life and parenting as impacted by cancer.
It would be difficult and frustrating, and at times, extremely painful, she seemed to say, but my days would still be full of love and joy, and I can still be an awesome mom, and my child can still be happy. I read those pages through tears; I was so relieved and hopeful. In the two years since then, we formed an internet friendship, tweeting and commenting on each other’s blog posts. The internet has made possible friendships between people who have never met.
Who will never meet.
Today I read her blog again through tears. Susan passed away today. She touched so many lives, her husband and little boys, her friends and family, the science community, the blogging community, the cancer and health advocacy community… and me, a girl at a computer Seattle, whose life was blessed by knowing her, even though we never met.
Is it just me, or does the moon seem to be a bit bigger and brighter tonight? I’m going to think of it as Susan’s moon.
Thank you, Susan, for the love and hope and strength you shared with all of us. Godspeed.
I didn’t mind the snowstorm much at all. It was a minor inconvenience, combined with a bevy of benefits. My husband at home for a few extra days. Family play time in the snow. A little girl’s first snowman. Soup with grilled sandwiches. Hot chocolate (Gem would be sure to verify that her’s was “warm”). Days packed with guilt-free snuggle time and togetherness.
Until my internet went out. Then it got personal.
Oddly, up until I noticed the outtage, I’d spent little time online. But in the hours, minutes, and seconds that have creeped by since that devastating discovery, I’ve thought of little else. We are all safe and well. We have electricity, heat, water, stockpiles of food, and an ever-deepening wonderland of snow and ice outside. It doesn’t matter.
I’m not connected.
I cannot share my every passing thought on facebook. I can’t pin pictures of food I will never cook, and clothes I will never wear. And since we dropped cable in favor of using the internet for tv, we might even have to break out the boxes of dvds that have been gathering dust in the closet. Even my phone is on Roam.
I’m quite certain I’ll weather this trauma just fine, and I’ll try not to spend my time counting the moments till I can post this message. In the meantime, I hope you are all safe and sound, warm and dry, that your problems are more frivolous than substantial, and that the storm leaves your homes and loved ones unscathed.
Her favorite toys laid out on a piece of pretty wrapping paper
Carefully wrapped
and topped with a pretty bow…
Berry Christmas, Mommy!
presented with both hands and a proud, beaming smile
It’s not just her toys. She’s used this one piece of paper to gift me with a book, a deck of cards, a shoe, my cell phone, the remote, and a dirty fork. But she has discovered the joy of giving.
Every once in a while, my daughter says something that makes me look at her in a whole new light.
The other day, she started our day at 6 am, by saying “adventure makes me happy, and I have my shoes on.”
I’ve always known she was adaptable, and maybe even adventurous, and she’s happily rolled with the punches of every upheaval we’ve thrown at her, family illness, new home, road trip, frequent changes in routines…
But this time I saw another dimension. Not only is she adventurous, she’s a go-getter, she doesn’t wait for adventure. She’s got her shoes on, and she finds adventure everywhere we go.
The park is full of adventure, leaves, things to climb on, trails, squirrels to chase, and even in winter we can usually find a flower. The grocery story is full of colors, and signs with letters and numbers, balloons, magazines, apples, brownies, and the greeting card aisle can entertain us for hours.
Even the commute on those days we drive Aaron in to work is full of adventure, cars, trucks, signs, buildings, sometimes we can see an airplane take off or land as we drive by Boeing, and some of the trucks have letters and pictures on them!!!!
Life is just so full of adventure. It’s wonderful to go somewhere new, but if you’re willing, you might even find a little adventure in your own back yard.
Seriously, what was I afraid of? Their exchange was completely innocent, and grounded in sharing joy. There was a full table width between them. Why the fear? Why did all my red flags go up? Am I really that shallow?
When we talk about listening to our gut, how do we know the difference between intuition and prejudice? Bigotry can feel a lot like instinct.
I consider her again as my daughter continues to play peek-a-boo and talk to her. She’s warming her hands around a cup of tea in a Pioneer Square coffee shop. Her clothes were tattered, but appeared clean. The coat had seen better days, as had her shoes. The clothes in the bags around her feet were faded, but neatly folded…
Oh, good grief. Really, Judy? Is that the best you can do?
I had to look back a couple times before I saw not what, but whom my daughter saw: A woman with kind eyes and a big smile who was happy to play peek-a-boo with my little girl.
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