What's Going On Here?
This site is for my kids when they get a little older. I want them to know what I was thinking. I want them to maybe get to know me a little. I want to write it now so they can read it then.
To My Children
Tags:
cancer
Kids, I don’t know what to say. I’m having a recurrence of a cancer I thought I was done with before the first of you was born. All of you are too young to understand what’s going on. At this point I don’t really know what’s going on either. Until we’ve gotten the biopsy results and figure out exactly how far all of the little roots have gone we can only imagine how good or bad the results will be. I try to tell myself that the best scenario I can imagine is also the most rational scenario, but I can’t deny that some pretty bad outcomes are possible too. In darker moments I imagine the beginning of a struggle against an illness that eventually leaves you fatherless. I’m sorry that this is happening to you.
But let’s imagine for a minute that this does turn bad and daddy is taken away by cancer. I want you to know that dying of an illness isn’t the worst thing that could happen to someone. The human race is afflicted by many illnesses and no one is exempt from the possibility that they’ll die from one of them. That’s part of the price of playing the game. We’re all in that lottery and just like some people will avoid those illnesses, some other people will not. It happens. Dying young is less likely, but it happens too. We were not targeted, we were not victims, and there is no one to blame. It’s like a car crash or a lightening strike or falling down the stairs. We were just unlucky. That doesn’t make it any less painful, but it might make it easier to come to terms with.
There are people in this world who die for reasons that are very hard to come to terms with. Good people die as the victims of crime. Some are betrayed by their friends. Some die of neglect when others who possess the power to help simply turn their backs instead.
Whatever happens to me I will not die of neglect; I will not die of injustice; I will not die because someone thought my life worth too little to save. If I die I will die loved, and labored over, and highly valued. At any age, you can’t ask for better circumstances than that.
I love you. Whatever happens.
Apprehension
It’s been five days since I discovered the bump on my back. It’s located right beside the scar from the bump they took out five years ago. That bump was cancerous and it’s hard to believe anything except that this is more of the same tumor.
I’ve been to my family doctor and gotten a referral to a surgeon. That appointment will be next week, five days from now. In the meantime I sit in the middle of this ten day span and try to keep my cool.
I suppose that the surgeon will consult with my last oncologist when deciding what course to take this time. I keep telling myself that the doctors will have the facts and that I shouldn’t let my imagination go running wild and scary before I’ve talked with them. It’s hard to stay calm, though.
First, I’m fairly young and I don’t want to die that way. It would be terrible to find out that this tumor has spent the last five years spreading into places that may make it a threat to my life.
Second, I have very young children and I don’t want to leave them fatherless.
Third, I have a beautiful wife and I don’t want to spend the next several years having to haunt the assholes who try to hit on her too soon after I’m gone. BUT I WILL IF I HAVE TO. Assholes be warned!
Confluence
Tags:
christmas
I’m writing this while sitting on my couch staring at our Christmas tree. The radio is playing Christmas music. It’s beautiful classical stuff that’s driven by the voices of choirs resonating in cathedrals.
My wife is here with me, though she’s fallen asleep snuggled under a blanket with her mug of hot chocolate not even touched. I, on the other hand, am warm with the aforementioned chocolate.
My children are warm in their beds — lets call it, “nestled all snug in their beds.” All of them are resting peacefully after an adventurous day.
My brother and his wife came by for a wonderful visit earlier this evening. They’re in town for Christmas and it’s a treat to see them. It’s especially fun to see our girls having so much fun with them. It’s nice taking time to visit with loved ones whom we don’t see often.
I can remember from my childhood sitting in a room lit by only a Christmas tree. It was a magical feeling: pondering the cold winter outside our house while we stayed warm inside; pondering the magical, mystical aspects of the Christmas story, with God sending a gift to humanity and angels announcing His kindness to shepherds in the field; the anticipation of the presents I would open on Christmas morning. Sitting here pondering my Christmas tree I’m connected to those far-away Christmas memories. Somehow I’m in both places at once.
I was there when Callie got earrings
Callie, you got earrings the weekend after you turned 3 years old. Here’s the story.
Cora was 4YO and had wanted earrings for several months. When we decided that she was sufficiently serious to go through with it your mom took Cora to a kiosk at the mall to let her pick out some earrings and get pierced. That first time Cora was great at picking out the earrings but not so brave when it came to having her ears pierced. We got very close to the actual piercing but ended up leaving that day with ears still intact.
We repeated that scene again, the brave girl turning frightened and leaving without her earrings. Then, driving home from church one Sunday Cora asked to be taken back to the earring kiosk a third time. This time she was sure she would be brave and get her ears pierced. Callie spoke up: “I want my ears pierced too.”
Well, by the time we got to the mall Cora had already changed her mind. She had worked herself up into such a fear of the ear piercing that she refused to leave the van. But Callie still said she wanted her ears pierced so I took her inside.
Callie, you were brave. We’d already paid for Cora’s earrings and piercing on a previous visit and had store credit. The sales woman showed you the earrings Cora had picked out and you liked them. She had you sit on my lap while she got things ready. She put dots on your ears with a black pen so she’d know where to pierce. Then she pierced: first the right ear, then the left.
You jumped a little at the first piercing but didn’t make any noise. I thought, Wow! My little girl is tough! After the second pierce you started to cry. It was the silent way you used to start your cries when you were really hurt or angry. I felt so bad for you, but so proud that you had gone through with it. You made a choice, you sucked it up, you saw it through. And you were three.
I helped you feel better and stop crying by getting you a drink and walking around the mall a little. I don’t remember exactly what I told you but it was all about how proud I was of you and how beautiful you looked with your earrings. I was your biggest fan, and to this day I’m still your biggest fan.
When we got back to the van your mommy loved the earrings and your sister was more than a little jealous.
Constantly Nervous
Tags:
nervous
The earliest memory I have of being nervous reaches back to when I was four years old. I was in nursery school. I don’t remember much about nursery school except that we would sometimes go outside to play, we would sometimes sit down on carpet to hear a story, they had tables full of water such that we could float boats and ducks in them, and we had at least one fire drill while I was there.
It’s the fire drill that caused me to be nervous. We learned that if the alarm sounded then everyone was to line up and be marched outside by the teachers. After the first fire drill I was afraid that I’d miss the lineup and be left behind if we had a fire drill while I was in the bathroom. This made me so nervous that I wouldn’t go to the bathroom at preschool. I’d hold it. I’d suffer. I’d suffer so bad that as a 32 year old I can still remember how bad I had to go to the bathroom when I was 4. But my fear overpowered even having to “go” that badly.
I have been nervous — painfully, awkwardly, constrictingly nervous — for all of my life.
Nature vs. Nurture
Tags:
impatience
Since I became the stay home parent in December, 2003, I’ve spent far and away more time with the girls than Tina has — staying with them all day so Tee can go out and work is my job description. This arrangement doesn’t mean that the girls don’t spend any time with their mother, it just means that when they see a parent dealing with a problem or situation, it’s usually going to be me that they’re seeing.
It was brought home to me today how much of an influence I have on the girls without even realizing it. Of course I actively try to teach them certain things like how to eat politely and how to share their toys. But they seem to be learning from me even when I’m not consciously in my role as teacher. They not only learn what I try to teach them, but I seem to have taught Cora a less desirable lesson without even knowing it.
While we were strolling to the playground tonight — Cora, Callie, and I — Cora pointed out that a certain car across the street was the same color as Callie’s stroller. Callie didn’t spot the car in question right away and had to repeatedly ask, “Where?” Cora grew louder and more impatient each time she had to repeat herself: “The blue car … Over there! … Across the street!!”
My heart sunk. I thought Cora was being way too impatient with her little sister and that it was inappropriate for her impatience to turn to anger so quickly, but my heart wasn’t sinking because Cora was lacking in this particular social grace. My heart sank because I could see and hear myself in Cora’s impatience and anger: she spoke to her little sister the same way I speak to my little children when I grow impatient. What I heard in her voice was my impatience and anger. I realized that, at least in this instance, all that time I had spent with my kids was a detriment to them rather than a benefit as my worst characteristics were rubbing off on them. And the indictment had come in my daughter’s own voice.
I resolve to do better. I will struggle to keep in mind what I can reasonably expect of my children at their various ages, and I will work to channel and dissipate my impatience and frustration before they come out at my girls.
Tell Me You've Done This Before
I don’t do well with the unknown. I don’t trust unfamiliar situations to turn out well. That’s not to say that I won’t tolerate new experiences like some people won’t try kayaking or sushi. There’s nothing unknown about sushi: millions of people have eaten it and enjoyed it. Just because I haven’t tried it doesn’t mean that it’s unknown.
An unknown situation is something like a late-night stomach ache. Not a minor, “I’m so full after eating that second brownie” stomach ache, but a queasy, nausea-inducing stomach ache. It could be caused by many different things, and who knows how to evaluate the real cause when the whole of your mind is distracted by the terrible urge to puke?
I had such a stomach ache on Saturday night. I woke up around midnight with a queasy pain in my abdomen. It got so bad that I eventually got out of bed in order to “be ready,” whatever that might mean. I felt that way for so long that I eventually had to sit back down again, exhausted from being ready.
Now, here’s where unknown comes in. Was this a stomach flu? Was it food poisoning? Was it an ulcer? A tumor? A burrowing intestinal worm swallowed while eating sushi? I’ve had stomach aches before, so this wasn’t a new experience. But I didn’t know why I had one now, so it was unknown. Something new can be analyzed for what it is, something unknown is frightening because of all the scary, unthinkable things it might be.
I think I’ve said before that I don’t do well with the unknown.
I spent hours that night sitting in the living room, hurting, queasing, fearing scary possibilities, and praying to God to help me stay calm and to please let this pain in my abdomen be something that would pass quickly, like a virus. And the pain had ceased by morning. Nothing more to worry about.
Two days later my four-year-old woke up complaining of a stomach ache. Her tummy hurt, and she wanted daddy to hold her until it felt better. She spent the morning sitting on my lap, complaining of a sore stomach, and puking into a bucket. This was all fairly new to her: she’s not used to throwing up. She’d look at me just before each retch as if to ask, “What’s happening?” Then I’d lean close to her ear during and tell her, “It’s okay, this is what our bodies do when we’re sick. It doesn’t feel very good but it’s normal, and you’re doing a great job getting through it even though you don’t like it much.”
I was coaching her. I was telling her that she was not in uncharted territory so she didn’t have to be scared. She could have confidence in me, if not in herself. I’d been where she was now and, while it might be new to her, it’s not unknown.
And that’s when I realized what my prayers were about when I had been afraid. Not about miraculous healing, but about assurance. I was looking for someone more experienced to say, “It’s okay, I know exactly what’s happening. You keep doing what you’re doing and everything will be fine, even if you don’t like it in the meantime.” Something like that is found in Isaiah 43:2
When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you.
Callie Waits
Tina is up late doing work on her computer. Callie is up late because she couldn’t sleep and wandered from her bedroom into the kitchen.
At our house if a kid hasn’t fallen asleep after giving it a good try then she is often allowed to get back up. She may not bother the adults or get wound up — we still want our kid-free adult time! — but is free to float about the house like a little ghost until she’s tired enough to try sleeping again.
Sand and Water
People:
Callie
I titled this photo “Sand and Water” because it shows Callie both wet and dirty. Beth Nielsen Chapman used the same title for a song about a strong person worn down by a long illness. The payoff line is, “Solid stone is just sand and water…sand and water and a million years gone by.” Sad song, but it’s a good sad.
That makes me think of the sand clinging to Callie’s face. It was once a solid stone; maybe a mountain.