and the penny drops….slowly

My sister spent Dec 30, 2010 at the hospital with Alistair.  Gary, Spencer and I were looking forward, somewhat anxiously, to his return home on Jan 1st.  Suzanne wanted Gary and I to have a night to ourselves before a different roller coaster ride began.  Unfortunately, that was the night he began his rapid descent into hell.  But before that happened, it seems they had quite a conversation.  She felt his thinking was so mature as he shared his thoughts on his family and the importance of them, of being together and of the joy of simply things like the shower he had so enjoyed that morning.

Two weeks later, Suzanne shared her conversation with Alistair as she spoke movingly at his funeral.  “Mom is hysterical” was one of his observations.  I was a little hurt, but I thought I understood.  He was referring to me in those last days.  When the doctors told Alistair, Gary and I that Alistair had leukemia, it was a huge shock.  We thought he had the flu, an infection maybe.  This was stunningly terrible news.  My heart lurched, my eyes watered as I thought of my baby.  I tried to hold it together, not for me, but for Alistair.  We had to be positive, to be brave.  Eventually, once the type of leukemia was diagnosed, we learned that Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia had the best success rate, though being male and being older were higher risks for his recovery.  Spencer knew of a professional hockey player who had had leukemia.  Some stats indicated a 94% chance of full recovery.  My mind struggled with all the data and information.  We were given a binder of information and were trying to re learn ordinary tasks like brushing teeth (which would have to change as the result of his gums weakened by chemo) as well as learn how to give needles.  So yes, I was probably hysterical despite my best efforts.

Gary, on the other hand, was exactly what Alistair needed. He was there, really there, for Alistair.  They sat together in Alistair’s hospital room for hours.  They would talk sports or movies or games or watch the TV or nap.  Gary was simply ‘present’.  He was not concentrating on taking care of Spencer or the cats and turtle at home, not worried about the documentation, the forms, the shuttling back and forth or keeping family up to date. He was not worried about how we were going to juggle two full time jobs, Spencer’s sports and Alistair’s medical requirements. He was with Alistair.  That was the only thing on his mind and in his heart.  There would be time for the rest later.

I understood Alistair’s comment and I for a long time, if I am honest, I was a little jealous of Gary, jealous that he had been what Alistair needed.

But the penny has dropped. It has taken almost two years, a new country and meeting lots of new people. I have come to recognize that I am hysterical, as in hysterically funny. When I am at the office, some people actually brighten up when they see me.  They know I will make them at least smile but probably laugh. Not only do I see this, but they have been kind enough to tell me that as well.  People have commented about blog posts too, telling me that they were laughing out loud at some of my outrageous adventures or my outrageous recounting of adventures and everyday activities. I enjoy people, I like engaging with them and I have fun with them. And finally, perhaps most appealing to my boys, I try not to take everything too seriously, I can (on my good days) make fun of myself, actually laugh at myself.

So four years ago, Alistair was telling me something that I was too wounded to appreciate.  Now, in a different place and time, I hear what he was telling me.  I feel his love and encouragement.  I sense myself approaching self acceptance with less disappointment and more contentment.

Alistair, message received. This penny has finally dropped.  Thank you, Bobo. I still love you too.

xoxox