A few days later, I whispered to Bob that I was finally ready - I wanted a baby. Not more than two weeks later, I got the call that changed our lives forever.
I remember that in the thick of it - after the doctor advised eight courses of chemotherapy to combat the fast-growing cells - I raged at God one night... "really? No child now, maybe no child ever? Really?"
Cut to almost six years later - a bit past that glorious five year mark - and we were ready to try again. But time and technology could not undo what was, and I knew I could not again withstand the daily injections and another call from a coldly unmoved doctor saying, "not this time, but we'll just increase the meds next round".
And yet the thing which I had once merely whispered had become something I now could not imagine living without, and so our final journey, in fits and starts and not without a great deal of trepidation, began.
The first social worker I called flatly noted that with my cancer history, no agency would ever approve us to adopt. Thankfully (and obviously) that proved not to be true, and well, you all know the rest of the story.
I share this with you now in the hopes you will read the remainder of this post with understanding, and be gentle with this hurting mom.
I share this with you now in the hopes you will read the remainder of this post with understanding, and be gentle with this hurting mom.
***
"Owen, I love you more than chocolate!"
"Mommy, I love you more than vanilla!"
"Well, I love you more than all the stars in the sky and all the fish in the sea"
"Mommy, I love you more than anything"
***
In 25 days, I will wake Owen early, have him dress in new khaki shorts and powder blue polo, and send him into the care of the teachers at his new school. In doing so, he and I will begin a new season in our life together. For the first time since we brought him "home" to our Kokshetau apartment on February 13, 2007, Owen and I will spend more time apart than together.
He told me a few weeks ago that he didn't want to go to all-day school because he would miss me so much. Knowing that I had to, I slid on my happy face and hugged him tight and assured that while I would miss him too, he was going to have a wonderful time in school, learning new things and seeing his friends. Inside, my heart started to weep.
In 25 days, the life I've lived and loved for the past five years - a life I dreamed of, fought for, and cherish - changes in ways I am dreading. What will I do without my little buddy?
Yes, it will be quieter, and the family room floor cleared of cars and toy tractors for more than three hours. I will be able to make and keep appointments with ease, and the grocery store trip will be much shorter without a stop to say hello to the lobsters and "helping hands" wanting to pick out the produce. Pet Smart will once again be just the place I buy cat food. I won't be spending my day squishing play-doh, choosing my favorite monster truck for a freestyle competition, helping a giggling little brother hide a rubber snake under his sister's pillow, or hitting a golf ball around the yard in our own version of mini golf. How very sad that makes me.
In 25 days, I will no longer get to wake slowly and snuggle with Owen each morning, planning our adventures for the day. I won't feel his little hand reach for mine as we stride across a parking lot. He won't be around to rub my forehead when I have a headache, to ask me to play a game of War or Connect Four, to laugh when I tickle him under the arm.
I know that like all moms before me, I will adjust. And I know that Owen will enjoy school. I will find new things to help pass my days, maybe a part-time job or volunteering, I will slowly learn to enjoy having "me" time again. I'll look forward to weekends and snow days with renewed joy.
But in 25 days, the heart that forever walks around outside my chest takes a big step away from me, and I will never stop missing him.
Yes, it will be quieter, and the family room floor cleared of cars and toy tractors for more than three hours. I will be able to make and keep appointments with ease, and the grocery store trip will be much shorter without a stop to say hello to the lobsters and "helping hands" wanting to pick out the produce. Pet Smart will once again be just the place I buy cat food. I won't be spending my day squishing play-doh, choosing my favorite monster truck for a freestyle competition, helping a giggling little brother hide a rubber snake under his sister's pillow, or hitting a golf ball around the yard in our own version of mini golf. How very sad that makes me.
In 25 days, I will no longer get to wake slowly and snuggle with Owen each morning, planning our adventures for the day. I won't feel his little hand reach for mine as we stride across a parking lot. He won't be around to rub my forehead when I have a headache, to ask me to play a game of War or Connect Four, to laugh when I tickle him under the arm.
I know that like all moms before me, I will adjust. And I know that Owen will enjoy school. I will find new things to help pass my days, maybe a part-time job or volunteering, I will slowly learn to enjoy having "me" time again. I'll look forward to weekends and snow days with renewed joy.
But in 25 days, the heart that forever walks around outside my chest takes a big step away from me, and I will never stop missing him.
3 comments:
oh -- you made me cry!! you are SUCH a great mother -- I admire you in so many ways. your patience goes on forever in a way that I can only inspire to ;-). both of you will grow in ways you didn't know possible, enjoy this next chapter. they grow in amazing ways, and so do we.
much love, kristi
Dear Jodi,
Your comments brought back memories for me. We know the world and all the challenges it can hold. That first step out the door for our children is the beginning of preparing them to handle whatever the world puts in front of them. Even though that step is probably more difficult for us, it is the beginning of an education they have to have. You and Bob have given Owen so much love that he will be able to negotiate the world around him with much more understanding and self confidence than most. It won't make it easier for you as he ventures out, but Owen will always come to you for guidance and support. I loved Kristi's last sentence..."they grow in amazing ways, and so do we. Much love, pam
I'm a little behind seeing this but had to tell you how much I loved your thoughts. You love and value Owen so much and many kids never get to feel what that's like also their parents miss out on these precious fleeting years. When I look back on my life I know one of the things I'm most proud of is being there for Hannah and I'm so glad you have that kind of relationship with Owen. You are such a great mom!
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