This past week, I've felt overwhelmed, harried, delighted and restful, all by turns. And on a day that threatened to outweigh the joyous with the stressful, I took a break from my box of tissues to discover this bit of news:
the daughter of a friend and the sister of a child with a bleeding disorder, was just diagnosed with leukemia.
This is a child whose parents already have their hands full, and who have managed a bleeding disorder with grace and humour. I am sure that there is no one who deserves this less (who deserves cancer?). Perhaps there is no one better prepared for this. Either way, today I will pause and set my self-centered self aside and try to avoid shouting and snapping at the universe that alotted this disease to this particular child, and this particular family. Instead, this is a time for yes, grief, but also acceptance, for hope and prayer and to join the rest of the hemo-mamas and -papas in standing ready to help.
Phooey. (several nasty comments suppressed here)
I just wish I could shake the image of my friend's daughter, who could neither defeat nor co-exist with her leukemia. Instead, my head is playing the mental tape of her burial and her father's wrenching eulogy. Okay. Enough wallowing. Time to go to Trader Joe's and pick up a care package. I'm thinking chocolate, fruit and bubble bath. Maybe a toy for the little girl (baby, really). But no flowers, as they're banned from the ward. Will a gift make it all better? My cynical self snorts and reminds me that the package will make me feel better, and marginally less helpless. Because in the end, isn't it really all about me?