On the Occasion of my Parents' Fiftieth Anniversary

Hello, HOPESpotters! It has been awhile. I know I’ve been busy, just as you are, I am sure. There have been many blogs I’ve started and many things I have wanted to say, but I haven’t had the time to give adequate thought to the words I’d like to publish. And boy oh boy, there’s a lot to talk about these days and I can’t think of a time when there has been a greater need for HOPE.

Today I write solely in honor of my Mom and Dad because today is their fiftieth wedding anniversary.  Per my parents’ wishes, there is no formal celebration. They are humble people. My family and my sister’s family will be honoring my parents when we go on our annual beach vacation to Hilton Head with some things I cannot mention yet.

My Mom and Dad were married July 9, 1966. Friends in high school that became a couple in college, the bride and groom were 23 and 22, respectively, when they tied the knot. As my sister said today on Facebook, “what they didn’t know that day could fill oceans, but thankfully, they were quick studies.” And for that Katie, her children, my children, and I are grateful.

Let me be clear: if I wrote a whole blog to published for the Internet at large about the ins and outs of my parents 50+ year relationship, I wouldn’t likely find a seat at Thanksgiving dinner. We are private in that way. There are things, however, that this milestone inspires me to share.

I have said in the past, “..I said, I do. Priest didn’t let me finish. I should’ve said ‘ I do not have a clue what I’m in for. Marriage is highs and lows, imperfections and tolerance, glee and grit. Starting a family is a miracle like inventing fire: one part “wow” one part “what did we just do?”

The vows are the thing that fascinate me about weddings and marriage. Weddings are such beautiful, happy events and the vows are, most often, seemingly taken for granted.  Knowing what I know now, and I can only imagine what my parents know now, I have somewhat a different vision for weddings: bride in mouth guard, groom in cup, priest in referee gear… “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to see if these two have any clue what they are getting into and are subsequently up for it.”

I am so blessed to have parents, and grandparents, that have gone the distance. I am painfully aware it isn’t easy and to those reading who are divorced, you also have my admiration. Sometimes I just muse, what if weddings vows were more specific:

    For better or worse.. Kids, you’re gonna disagree- on houses, discipline, friends, vacation destinations. Your dog will die. Your toilet will overflow before your son’s First Communion party. There might be more worse than better. Endure.

    For richer or for poorer… Guess what? The economy, the stock market, luck -all might work against you. Every bride in America takes this vow with beautiful tear filled doe eyes thinking there is no level of poorer that would change her love for her groom. Unfortunately, poor hurts. And hungry sucks.

    In sickness and in health… This one.  Perhaps brides and grooms should be hooked to polygraphs when they make this vow.  When you're young and beautiful, this one seems irrelevant. Until it becomes painfully relevant.  Imagine the priest or rabbi or whatever officiant sitting the beautiful youngsters down and saying, “Best case scenario you two will grow old together and one will die before the other and it will be devastating. OR one of you could get sick, maybe each of you and it is up to the other to take care. Real care. Walking to bathroom. Picking up from falls. Smelling poop. Assessing memory. ALL. OF. IT.” And not all sickness is terminal - sometimes this vow is just a gut check for a couple asking if they can tolerate the sound of each others vomit or the moans of each other's pain. Sickness and health, to me, probably because of my profession and life experience is the biggity biggest vow.

    To love and to cherish… Yup. You forgot this one, too, right? This one gets to the crux of longevity, in my opinion.  Love and cherish is flowery. Close your eyes and think about three couples right now. Do they love and CHERISH? Is laundry on the floor an abandonment of cherishing? Harsh words? Staying married is hard - maintaining cherishing is…. Is… Is… Unusual.  For me, maintaining cherish in the life of 2016 is rare and difficult. Perhaps,  many of us need the reminder that this virtue was part of the vows.

    Finally, and essentially, the “from this day forward until death do us part”. How? HOW? Do twenty early year olds make this vow? In fact, how does anyone until you’ve seen that death part? Imagine again the wedding officiant looking into the eyes of the beautiful young bride and groom and getting them to honestly buy into nursing the other to death??? As this blog is in honor of my healthy and younger than biological age Mom and Dad, I am not going to dwell on this vow. It speaks for itself. I will only say I recently had the privilege of caring for a 68 year old man and his wife, to whom I’d become very fond. I was with them as he was moved into the hospital bed that he would inevitably die in within days. I won’t forget them clinging to each other, saddened by their defeat by cancer, and saying, “I’ll find you again. We found each other here. I’ll find you again.” So, death do us part? For how long, I say..

I hate that it is so easy for me to point out the ‘bad vows’ because, in fairness, that hasn’t been my life experience.  Marriage can also be better, richer, healthier.  Couples that work hard can enjoy together first steps, milestones, stolen time away, and comfort in each other's embrace. I have been truly blessed to see parents and grandparents who endured trouble, cancer, disappointment, changes and come out with love. This perserverance is what I hope for my sons because I am certain that there isn't anything I can say same to them in the presence of hot romantic love that will resonate with any form of relevance.

The purpose of my dissection of the marriage vows in light of my parents’ 50th is this: life and work have underscored for me how hard marriage can really be. I am really grateful to have been raised by two people who made the rounds on the up and downsides of each vow and found a way to stay together.  The Bible says, “Love is patient, love is kind…” And who am I to question the Bible? For me, growing up with my Mom and Dad, I learned that love IS, in fact, patient; love is tolerant; love is enduring and not always pretty, BUT love ultimately is coming together to celebrate the family you created and forgiving the imperfections of fate that you had to endure.

Mom and Dad, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable in a public celebration of your anniversary. I just think, along with Katie, that it needs to be said: it wasn’t easy or pretty, but we remember it as also happy and fun and safe. There has been constant and unconditional support. Thank you. We love you. Congratulations for honoring the hardest of vows for 50 years.
Here’s to marriage and all that comes with it. Here’s to love. And here’s to longevity and its example.

Happy Mother's Day - a cautionary tale.

Hello, Hopespotters and Happy Mother’s Day! I hope that each of you are celebrating the day in a way that makes you feel special and loved - whether you're a kid Mom, pet Mom, stand in Mom or have/ had a Mom. I want to share the story of my Mother’s Day 2016, Be warned that it is intended to serve as a cautionary tale and I don’t think some of the language that will follow will be rated “G”.

I’m not going to lie - I love Mother’s Day. Being a Mother is the greatest thing I have ever had the privilege of doing. There was a time when biological Motherhood wasn’t a certainty for me, so that I have been granted this gift is something I believe to be miraculous.  And I believe I have really great kids. With very little exception, Ryan and Sean are kind and bright and loving and fun. With boys like I have, Mother’s Day really shouldn't be such a big deal because I know they love me and they often go out of their way to say and show that. Nevertheless, I came downstairs this morning, after a lovely sleep in, filled with excitement for the day ahead.

And I was, in turn, treated royally. Is there anything better than homemade cards and heartfelt messages? And for my gift? A new, pink FitBit. I was thrilled. This was exactly what I asked for and Ryan and Sean were equally enthused about setting it up for me and teaching me all of its applications.

So, emboldened with feelings of “I love being a MOB (Mom Of Boys)” and “ We are a fit family” I made a suggestion. I cared not for brunch or a mani/ pedi. Wanting togetherness, I said, “You guys want to go zip lining today?”  Excited head nods and brotherly shoulder punches were my response. Then, “Let’s GO!”

It is a beautiful day in Atlanta and nearby there is a place called “TreeTop Quest” that hosts a zip line course. In fairness, we went for Father’s Day last year but were rained out after level one. And I didn’t have a FitBit then. I pictured us on the cover of “Awesome Mom/ Fit Family” magazine. Anxiety and fear, especially of heights, weren’t even on my radar. Let’s fly, Family!

When we arrived, Sweet Lord Jesus tried to send me two warnings that I properly ignored. First, as Kevin was signing the waivers, the “harness man” asked me to step on a scale. I. Had. To. Be. Weighed. I softly asked him not to call out the number, which he gentlemanly did not. Instead, he said, “So you got some weight on you which means when you get zippin’ you’re gonna come in hot.” IF I had battled through the shame, I would have asked him more about what coming in hot meant, but I didn’t. I learned all on my own later. Second, as we were being fitted in our harnesses, we heard screams for help. A young boy was on level three and didn’t quite make it to the landing base. He thought he was stuck and he panicked.  As Ryan and Sean watched him be coached to the tree, I calmly explained, “You see, boys- he’s panicking. You are hard to rescue when you panic. He’s very safe up there.” In hindsight, I think it was adorable that I said that.

So after a terrifyingly brief orientation about latching in the  safety clip and using the pulley for the zip line routes, we embarked on level one. In my opinion, TreeTop Quest might consider requiring participants to watch a video about each portion of each level because once you start, you have to complete the level. Going backwards is not an option with their latch system. I am guessing they don’t do this because any adult with a fear of heights like mine would say, “I’d like my money back, please.” Here’s the thing: in level one and level two, there isn’t much zip lining. There are shaky bridges and rope lines and feats worthy of those a-holes, The Wallendas, who think walking over the Grand Canyon on a tightrope is entertaining. In level two, there are two zip line portions and in the first, I learned what “coming in hot” meant and my shin will now look like hamburger until the Fourth of July. As Ryan and Sean bounded through each obstacle, I could not for the life of me remember what the hell I had been thinking.

It is important that I share now the truth and the spiritual message of this blog. The safety clip system at TreeTop Quest is impermeable. Like many leaps of faith in life, the steps are scary, but it is imperative to remember that you are safe. God has got you. When we focus on the fear, we lose sight of the gift that our lives, our souls, are eternally protected. That is the truth.

However, all I could think was if I lost my footing, I might not crash to the ground, but I would dangle like a gelatinous piñata, shaming my sons for the rest of their lives.

My husband was a loving cheerleader. As Ryan and Sean bounded obstacles way ahead of us on level two, Kevin kept reminding me that I could do it.  With those reminders, I kept adding an “N” to the end of his name. “Shut up, Kevinnn”. “I am going to die, Kevinnnnnn”. “I don’t even like you, Kevinnnnnnnnnnn”.  

After nearly hyperventilating through most of level two, I called a family meeting. “Guys, I am not as good at this as I thought. Heights scare me. I want you to feel free to do Level 3, but I think I am out.” I am a fool and a sucker for compliments. “Mom, this is the BEST DAY EVER. You can do it. You are “the real MVP”. C’mon. Look at your FitBit. We don’t want to do it without you!!”

And then “Staff Girl” ( all 102 lbs of her and 19 years of age) appeared. “Are you going to do level 3?” I said, “I don’t think so. The bridges and obstacles in level 2 freaked me out.” Staff Girl then said, “Oh, level 3 is the funnest. There’s mostly only ziplining. No shaky bridges, really. It’s my favorite.” To Staff Girl I would now say, “What else is fun for you, Staff Girl? Being stung by bees.?” But I didn’t. With four gorgeous pleading blue eyes staring at me, I said, “Let’s do it”.

Staff Girl was a little right. At the beginning, there were only two shaky portions and they weren’t the hardest. What they did, however, was put you right up at the top of the TreeTop Quest. I don’t like to look out of my bedroom window and here we were now 100 feet up. Ryan was booming through like Tarzan. Sean began to falter and approached each new portion with increased fear.  I was right behind him, trying to hide my own anxiety - poorly.

I must stop now to say two things: First, my mother is reading this and saying, “This isn’t funny, Jennifer. Poor Sean. This sounds awful.” She’s right, I messed up. Second, there may be a mother in Dunwoody reading this wondering if I was the woman who SCREAMED at her son for ziplining into the platform before we had cleared it. I may have said, with a purple vein bulging in my forehead, “YOU CAME TOO SOON!” And I may have seen tears well in his eyes. I’m sorry, 9 year old. When you’re in a fox hole, emotions can be raw.  

So Sean got halfway through level 3, 120 feet off the ground and said, “I’m done. I am not doing this.” He was slightly tearful but very resolved. While Kevinnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn thought for a moment that he would encourage him to finish, I screamed for help like there was a fire. Next, I heard this through a walkie talkie, “Spider, this is Monkey. We need a rescue in Zone 9. Send Acorn.” I didn’t have time to rage against the stupid nicknames or worry that Acorns typically fall out of trees before I learned that for Acorn to get to Sean, the four people waiting for us to go had to come to our platform. It got cozy and you know what trees do up high? They rock. As a crowd gathered beneath us to watch the rescue of Sean, I could only think, “If I poop my pants, it will rain down on them like a shitstorm from hell.”  Acorn appeared with gear that seemed official.  I was hoping she could take me down with Seanny, but Acorn didn’t seem like she could handle my "weight" that would make me "come in hot".  Boring my eyes into her soul, I asked if she knew what she was doing. Acorn replied, “This is no problem, ma’am. Just finish the course and I’ll have him there waiting for you.”

Suddenly, it didn’t matter how high up I was or how shaky the platform felt. I had to get to Ryan at the next pass and find Sean at the finish. In a scenario like a Mother’s Day after school special, I found super human courage. I would latch, zip, and save.

The day did, however, have a casualty.  As I left Sean in Acorn’s capable care and zipped away, there was a bright green lizard on the cable.  Because sure, let’s add a reptile to this equation. Why not? When I hooked in, Kevinnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn assumed that it would jump away. I thought of nothing other than getting to my boys.

I can only hope Mr. Lizard never felt a thing as he got caught up in my pulley wheels and squirted his life juice in my face.

I finished the last three portions in record time and found a truly unfazed Sean at the finish, drinking a Gatorade. My FitBit recorded a ridiculously low number of steps but perhaps the highest heart rate in brand history.

In conclusion, we are all home safe and everyone is saying I was AWESOME. When Ryan and Sean are in therapy, I guess I’ll need to be the one to share the zip line story. But I learned some key lessons that I pray to carry with me: your latch will save you, even if it isn’t pretty, and you can do ANYTHING when you think your kid needs you. It may have actually been the best Mother’s Day of all. Next year, however, I am going to think long and hard about that mani/pedi. 

Cancer-versary

Today is Easter Sunday, a blessed day with very special meaning to many of us. It is the holiday of HOPE and the day we are reminded that nothing is ever so dead that it cannot be resurrected. This truth carries me through many days of sadness, worry and fear.

This year, 2016, Easter Sunday falls on March 27th. March 27th is the day I have celebrated for THIRTY ONE YEARS as my “Cancerversary”.  In 1985, at 13 years old, I was diagnosed with thyroid cancer. Just the “C” word, at that time, instilled fear,and my particular case, was unusual for my age.  There is plenty I can say about my memories of the time surrounding my diagnosis; my fears and my profound sadness for my parents. I could write volumes about what I learned about nursing, empathy, and survivorship, and I intend to, over time. Every one that knows me well understands the profound footprint cancer has left on my soul- as survivor, the daughter and sister of survivors and the honored observer of surviving patients every day.

Today, however, I want to focus on the “Cancerversary”.  For me, I mark my “Cancerversary” as the day I had the seven hour surgery to remove all the cancer that was surgically removable. At age 13, going to New York City for what seemed, at the time, to be major surgery, was a major deal. I was scared. My Mom, sleeping on the floor at my side, was scared and people in my community, including my eighth grade classmates, were praying. “Normal” had quickly and dramatically changed.

To be clear, I don’t live in the past. My point in celebrating my “Cancerversary” is not to continue to draw attention to a thirty one year old memory. In my opinion, a Cancerversary is worthy of celebrating for the same reasons athletes reminisce about a championship or historians mark a battle victory. For anyone who has been touched by cancer, I believe there is value in marking the day where you took the battle to the mat (operating room, chemo chair) and said, “It’s on, Cancer. The line is drawn here.”

When in a fight that one must win, dates and victories are imperative to chronicle.

I remember, vaguely, being wheeled away from my Mom into the elevator going to surgery. My stoic, already battle weary Mom gave me a thumbs up and said, “get rid of this, OK?” More recently, my sister (Cancerversary 9/12/2013) came out of her double mastectomy drowsily demanding, “is it gone?”

Cancer draws a dark and hard line in anyone’s life story, essentially regardless of the statistical prognosis. I would be willing to bet that anyone who has sat across from a doctor and heard the word cancer, for themselves or a loved one, doesn’t see that day as the line between before and after.

As proof, I recently communicated with a college friend whose dear husband, also a college friend, was killed by cancer. I don't want to say lost his battle because he wasn’t a loser and cancer is a murderer. She messaged me saying, “ The 10th marked the 7 year anniversary since CAM’s diagnosis and the day that life changed forever….it’s like the line in the sand and you are forever “before cancer” and “after cancer”. Hard earned wisdom from a beautiful young widow.

Tonight we toasted my “Cancerversary”.  At dinner with my family who was there 31 years ago, it was right to celebrate the distance we traveled since this day and the life I have been blessed to live. Always on this day, I say a silent prayer for the doctors and nurses who have long since forgotten my name, but for whose impact I will always remember.

Hallmark acknowledges a lot of holidays and many different relationships. Maybe it’s just me, but I think “cancerversaries” are a thing. If you know someone, love someone, or ARE someone, who has waged war against the cancer beast, and there is a day when cancer got punched back into its nose like the bully it is, celebrate that day. I dream of a day when Al Roker will sit at the Today show desk and wish people twenty, thirty, forty year Cancerversary wishes.

And if anyone reading has a milestone coming up… A heartfelt happy Cancerversary!

Holy Saturday for all of us

I am not an extremely religious person. I am not a preacher, chaplain or any kind of theologian. My life, my upbringing and most definitely my work, regularly take me to a place where I have to contemplate faith. Born on Good Friday and a lifelong lover of the Easter message, today is the day that gives me the most pause and compels me to write to you.

Today is Holy Saturday - the day where I think each of us live. Every day. Holy Saturday is the pause button between lost hope and hope regained. And before you think I’m going all biblical on this blog, stay tuned. Let me explain. 

A back up: Holy Week marks the end of the Lenten season for Christian people (don’t go away, non-Christian readers). Lent is the 40 days leading up to Easter when God sings to us a song from the musical, “Godspell”. He asks us to do the following “Day by Day”: to see thee (Him) more clearly, love (Him) more dearly, follow (Him) more nearly. Regardless of your religious belief, considering your faith with these three pieces of advice is most likely purposeful. The grand finale week comes down to Maundy Thursday ( the celebration of the Last Supper) and Good Friday, the day that remembers Christ’s crucifixion. After Good Friday, the faithful community holds its collective breath until the Easter candle is lit. For the believers, Jesus Christ is Risen and eternal HOPE is restored.

Even if you don’t believe, the story of hope lost and hope restored by resurrection/ redemption is compelling. It is repeated over and over again in literature, symphony, poetry and film.

Yesterday was Good Friday. I’ve always had a kindred relationship with this day because in 1971, April 9th, the day I was born, fell on Good Friday. As I got older, I questioned what made Good Friday so “good” if Jesus was killed. On my wedding day, my sister, matron of honor, answered the question definitively. In her toast to Kevin and me, she referenced my Good Friday birth and her Easter Sunday first meeting of me. She joked, but stated accurately, that her gift to me of plastic Easter eggs in my bassinet was quite genius as it demonstrated life’s fragility and God’s promise for HOPE. Perhaps,  that was the very first moment I fell in love with this virtue.

In isolation, Good Friday is devastating. The baby that was born in a manger in Bethlehem is murdered for his beliefs. It seems archaic to think such action might be taken, until you take into account the multitude of terror attacks we see and fear on a daily basis. For those that believed in Jesus and what He represented, Hope died on the cross that day.

For the believers, there’s an annual spoiler alert. Easter Sunday listed on the calendar reassures the fearful that the stone is, in fact,  pushed to the side, the tomb is empty, and the King is Risen. Whatever dress or pastel suit a Christian might wear to service/ mass, it doesn’t cover up the goose bumps that come when the choir sings “Jesus Christ is Risen Today”. Under your breath, you are saying “Hallelujah”.  Don’t deny it.

So Good Friday, blah. Easter Sunday, Yay! Why oh why am I writing about Holy Saturday? I will tell you.

I started this blog as an effort to capture life, and the juxtaposition, of hospice nurse and Mom of growing boys. Throw in cancer survivorship and I feel I have “life bytes” I want to share. With a plea for forgiveness from the Christian church, I think the largest message for the general population comes not from Good Friday OR Easter Sunday, but in under-represented Holy Saturday.

Holy Saturday is the scary place where so many of us sit every day: I’m divorced, will my kids hate me? My wife has cancer, will I raise my kids alone ? My child has autism, will she ever be invited to a party? These questions, and so many others, sit in the broad apron of Holy Saturday. I remember learning that my cancer had recurred at the same time I wanted to start a family. Who would I be if not a Mom?? The “day before” seemingly takes away the hope and the “Easter” Sunday seems unlikely or unfathomable. My belief is most of us, every day, are battling some form of anxiety from living through the day that comes after the bad news, and praying for the HOPE that could be restored.

Friends, I have no cure for Holy Saturday. For the disciples of Jesus, they have the gift of hindsight. After the tomb was empty, we can imagine that they high fived each other and “dabbed” with the “I knew its” and “Told you so, Thomas!”. They could only get to that place after their agony of enduring Holy Saturday. I really do think that after that experience of living through Good Friday and surviving through to Easter Sunday, confidence was given and endurance for their next, inevitable, spiritual test.

I think, for all of the struggling I see, personally and professionally, the goal should not be to cure Holy Saturday. As friends and caregivers and family members and spouses and parents, my belief is that we most hold Holy Saturday as the most holiest of days, requiring each of us to show each other compassion and empathy. It is, perhaps, the very best day for us to see HIM more clearly, love HIM, more dearly and follow HIM, more clearly -- day by day! And, Holy Saturday tasks each of us to deliver the spoiler message that is, of course, HOPE.