Waaaaaay back in August, I read an AMAZING post written by Meri called One of Those Moments. It spoke to me in a way few things do. I can't do it justice. Just go read it for yourself. I'll wait.....
This post made me laugh and it made me cry. And I think about it all the time. Still. Two months later.
First, I LOVE this:
But since those three fateful days when my worlds as I knew them were knocked off their axis, there have been an armful of moments that just as suddenly, jarred me to my very core. Like aftershocks in the earthquake of diagnoses. In these instances my true priorities were made clear. Most of these moments lasted just seconds, but their grasping influences left imprints that forever changed the way I look at my life.
Aftershocks in the earthquake of diagnosis. How true is that?!? I feel those aftershocks still....some are stronger than others. But they are still there.
But that's not the part that REALLY gets me.
No. The part that really gets me is after talking about how, due to confusion, one son had not had his bg checked overnight. He'd been going low every night... and he was still sleeping... later than usual. As parents of CWD's we immediately feel the hairs stand up on the back of our neck and we get goosebumps. Because we KNOW....
It's when she says this:
Why must we stare our children’s mortality in the face on a daily basis? What purpose can this serve?I think that I have been trying to say this... trying to explain this... well, since I started writing this blog over a year ago!
I honestly feel there IS a purpose. Without these kinds of moments...the world wouldn't have nearly the amount of good that it has. Once you get a glimpse out the window of what could be…the sadness of losing a child, a friend or a loved one…or once you see firsthand another human being suffer…you are changed…period. Priorities are changed, views are changed, what seemed important before just isn’t important anymore.
I think I'm always trying to explain this - and I never feel like I quite get it right, like I convey the right message, like I make it clear.... And I keep writing post after post about this... just trying to explain.
That's why I started writing at all. I want people to know about T1. I want them to GET IT. I want them to see that it's not this easy peasy disease that is no big deal. I want them to see the TRUTH about what it does to all of us.
And it's so hard. Because if you don't LIVE this life, you can't really understand what it's like. You just can't. I don't mean that in a condescending way... it's just the truth.
I keep trying to explain.... I'm not the same person that I once was. I look the same. I like the same things. But something inside of me has changed. You can't really SEE the change. But it's there.
Interestingly, I talked to J about this today. He says that he does not think he's any different. He says that he "just has more to do than normal people to take care of my child. But the core of me is the same."
Maybe it's a guy thing? Because the core of me is not the same.
Maybe that's why it's so hard for marriages when a diagnosis (any diagnosis) happens. It seems to either strengthen you or tear you apart.... and we are lucky and blessed that it brought us closer and made us stronger. But it saddens me that not everyone is so lucky.
The core of me is NOT the same. I can't think of many things that D has not touched or changed in some way. I may do the same things. I may have the same friends. I may watch the same TV shows. I may read the same kinds of books. I may shop in the same stores. But my core is different.
When you stare your child's mortality in the face every day, it changes you.
"Once you get a glimpse out the window of what could be…you are changed…period. Priorities are changed, views are changed, what seemed important before just isn’t important anymore."
How do you explain this to someone when you LOOK the same? How do you explain this to people when you ACT the same?
Everything changed for me on April 27, 2009.
I woke up that morning one person and I ended the day as someone else.
Honestly, it's been more gradual than that. Slower. Taken more time. But it's happened, nonetheless.
It can be frustrating. When people expect you to care about things that are just no longer on your radar. With D, there is so little time and energy left over at the end of the day that you have to be so particular in what you spend your "free" time on...
It's kind of like when you have a baby. In one instant your life changes forever. And it's hard to explain the enormity of it to someone until it happens to them. Same thing.... except not.
Even now, it's so hard to put into words.
And I wonder... what would Sweetpea be like without D? What would our lives be like? Would she be as spunky? Would she worry like she does now? How has this changed and shaped her life? We'll never know.
Today, I can only speak for me.
I grew up on that day. I matured faster than I would have without it. I realized how fragile life is. How precious. How little control we really have. I experienced fear, pain... trauma... My dreams changed. My future changed. My hopes and goals changed.
My heart was broken on April 27, 2009.
You can't really see it. You could never really see the million little pieces it broke into. You may not have guessed. You may not have noticed.
But slowly, I've pieced it back together. Super glued all those little parts.
It's not as tidy now. It may not be as pretty as it once was. But it still works. I can still LOVE with it. I can still FEEL with it. It still hurts sometimes.
But just like with broken bones, when it mended - it became stronger.
No, I'm not the same person I was. I am a new creation. And that's not such a bad thing.
(and I STILL don't know if I got it right... if I explained it right... if I said enough - or too much...)