Poppy’s Tree Fundraiser was phenomenal. Absolutely heartwarming. So many people – friends, family, and strangers alike, stepped up and helped this event make history in my heart. We sold 224 trees, tons of baked goods ( thank you Edie, Valen, Patty & family, Sharon, Bryna, Matt and Kelly for donating) and a bunch of handmade (by me) gifts. This fundraiser put a noticeable dent in the upcoming surgery bill. We have raised 10% of the total cost.
I would like to say a special thank you to the following for their generosity, be it in time, product, or other support : Kim and Michelle, Kaye and Ed, Lori, Traci, Doug and Dona, Santa Claus, Starbucks, Ronita, Jazzkats, Billy, Brittany, Keith, Brandon, Kathie, Joi, Missy, Whitney, Leah, The Milwaukie High School Choir, KGW News, Alma Midwifery, The Klum family, and every single one of you that came out to purchase your tree! This was a success because of your kindness. My faith in people was truly restored throughout this event. Thank you.
And now, I am quiet and hunched over. If I stand too tall, my insides will spill out and I will have to (once again) gather the lot of them and stuff them, tied and tangled, back inside my shrinking body.
On Tuesday afternoon Poppy had a seizure. It was frightening to the very core. I called her neurosurgeon and after a lengthy conversation between neurology, neurosurgery, and myself, an emergency medication was ordered to begin immediately. I wanted to believe it was something else. I wanted to pretend it didn’t happen. Like a tree falling in the forest with no one around…
But there we were. Four generations witnessing a most terrifying fact.
Poppy was seen yesterday by neurosurgery and they just confirmed my fears – while trying to be reassuring, they insisted this was not something to shrug off.
That feeling when you almost get in a terrible accident but miss it by a hair – that is my baseline. Heart- pounding, sweaty, tunnel-visioned and unsteady. My abode. My daily uniform.
It gets harder. Every second that I know her, see her, smell her, feed her from my breast, sleep tangled in her grasp – I love her deeper and stronger and more purely. Not only do I now harbor realistic fear when I send her brother off to school where someone may bring a weapon, or hatred, or poison – but this tiny girl is not even safe in her own body. In my arms.
” The decision to have children is to decide to forever have your heart go walking outside your body.”
Having children is having a constant ache elsewhere. A limb in a classroom 12 miles away. The lens of each eye napping quietly beside me. Lungs, separate. So many ventricles. Liters, and liters of blood. We need every drop. We cannot spare one another.
I need these two, every living cell – to function. My heart is broken tonight. Broken for families with empty bedrooms, and empty arms. And my heart is broken for my son, and my daughter – their lives become harder every day. I am not saying that our love and laughter and joy do not overpower the rough stuff – but the rough stuff exists within every belly laugh and snort.
We know pain. We maneuver through it with the grace of God. But we know it too well.