Holy Laptop, Batman!
So this morning I placed a call to one of my oldest friends (she's not old--the friendship is), Dana, who I've mentioned here before. Her daughter, Emersyn, is the spunky little four-year-old who has Loeys-Dietz syndrome and just bounced back from open heart surgery at the beginning of May. Back when my dad died, in 1993, Dana was probably the best grief counselor I had. She didn't say much. I don't recall us talking a whole lot. Her dad and my dad had been really good friends in their early teaching days, and our moms are still close. Dana and I have known each other since we were three years old or something crazy like that, and we've never really lost touch. She's been through more than I think almost anyone could handle, and she remains a woman of grace, wisdom, and great mercy. I can't believe she calls a boob like me friend, but I'm damned lucky.
I called her this morning and we talked and cried about dealing with the reality of death on too regular a basis than we'd ever really registered for while walking the aisles looking for wedding china. I never fail to get off the phone with her and not feel wholly like myself. I think she was certainly the first friend I ever knew who loved me just for me. And given her track record thus far, she's one hell of an ally in this ugly war.
I hung up the phone, kept pulling out a few of those annoying thorns in the back yard--I take it as a personal offense that every single one of them poses a threat of pain to my daughters, and I yank them out with proportionate wrath. My friend Kirstan had arrived earlier to help Katie finish off the 80-square quilt she'd sewn in a day and a half last week, and I was giving them some space away from my larger-than-life-don't-let-anyone-else-in-the-room-even-my-eight-year-old-get-
in-a-word-edgewise self so they could get in a word edgewise. But soon Katie came out and told me Kirstan had a surprise for me. Being the selfless, non-self-absorbed individual I am, I was mighty intrigued.
As I came back in, I saw Makeesha sitting on the couch. I was quite confused. Was Makeesha the surprise? If so, yippee! I love hanging out with her, and she's so pretty, so what's not to love about that? But no, Kirstan is tapping those gorgeous long fingers on a cardboard box. I'm thinking chocolate and a journal and books and nice chemo stuff to keep me occupied so I don't yammer at the nurses for four hours straight.
As soon as I opened it, I knew what it was. good lord!! Everyone bought me a laptop!! All of YOU! You sneaky people snuck around and gave money and wrote checks and were sneaky! (Also, Makeesha is still accepting money through the 20th, if you wanted to contribute to the effort--no changes in the initial notice that you kept secret.) It's a beautiful Dell laptop, the one built for use in small businesses, and will be followed shortly with a delicious batch of software, and, apparently, a kick-ass printer/scanner/fax/motorboat/minifridge. Wow.
I didn't have any more tears left (Dana and I cried them all out earlier, over thorny weeds), but I was speechless--NOT any easy thing to accomplish. I still don't know what to say. I'm humbled and grateful, no more so than I am for all the gifts of service and meals that have made these last hellish weeks manageable, but so grateful nonetheless. I can't believe how you all banded together and gave me a tool that will undoubtedly aid my journey of fighting and recovery. Writing for me isn't simply a way to feed my ego. It's a cathartic, healing discovery of my faith, my own self, and where I want to go. When I write, I map out my way home, every time. I've always loved pounding out a bunch of words on a keyboard, relished the thrill of watching my thought process fill spaces and lines across a blank screen.
So this is an immeasurable gift, as is the presence and support of all of you. Thank you for being with me on this journey, for not, as I told one new friend, "running for cover." Thank you for bringing meals, for making eye contact with my girls, for sending cards, for praying, for reading my streams of consciousness. Thank you for participating in a kind of community that I believe is the most effective--one that doesn't run from conflict or the truth, one that doesn't offer or accept easy answers, one that kicks in the strongest when the heat is on, one that knows that laughter and tears join the glorious river of life. And thanks for a laptop. It will be well loved and pounded upon enough to make it feel very worthwhile.
I called her this morning and we talked and cried about dealing with the reality of death on too regular a basis than we'd ever really registered for while walking the aisles looking for wedding china. I never fail to get off the phone with her and not feel wholly like myself. I think she was certainly the first friend I ever knew who loved me just for me. And given her track record thus far, she's one hell of an ally in this ugly war.
I hung up the phone, kept pulling out a few of those annoying thorns in the back yard--I take it as a personal offense that every single one of them poses a threat of pain to my daughters, and I yank them out with proportionate wrath. My friend Kirstan had arrived earlier to help Katie finish off the 80-square quilt she'd sewn in a day and a half last week, and I was giving them some space away from my larger-than-life-don't-let-anyone-else-in-the-room-even-my-eight-year-old-get-
in-a-word-edgewise self so they could get in a word edgewise. But soon Katie came out and told me Kirstan had a surprise for me. Being the selfless, non-self-absorbed individual I am, I was mighty intrigued.
As I came back in, I saw Makeesha sitting on the couch. I was quite confused. Was Makeesha the surprise? If so, yippee! I love hanging out with her, and she's so pretty, so what's not to love about that? But no, Kirstan is tapping those gorgeous long fingers on a cardboard box. I'm thinking chocolate and a journal and books and nice chemo stuff to keep me occupied so I don't yammer at the nurses for four hours straight.
As soon as I opened it, I knew what it was. good lord!! Everyone bought me a laptop!! All of YOU! You sneaky people snuck around and gave money and wrote checks and were sneaky! (Also, Makeesha is still accepting money through the 20th, if you wanted to contribute to the effort--no changes in the initial notice that you kept secret.) It's a beautiful Dell laptop, the one built for use in small businesses, and will be followed shortly with a delicious batch of software, and, apparently, a kick-ass printer/scanner/fax/motorboat/minifridge. Wow.
I didn't have any more tears left (Dana and I cried them all out earlier, over thorny weeds), but I was speechless--NOT any easy thing to accomplish. I still don't know what to say. I'm humbled and grateful, no more so than I am for all the gifts of service and meals that have made these last hellish weeks manageable, but so grateful nonetheless. I can't believe how you all banded together and gave me a tool that will undoubtedly aid my journey of fighting and recovery. Writing for me isn't simply a way to feed my ego. It's a cathartic, healing discovery of my faith, my own self, and where I want to go. When I write, I map out my way home, every time. I've always loved pounding out a bunch of words on a keyboard, relished the thrill of watching my thought process fill spaces and lines across a blank screen.
So this is an immeasurable gift, as is the presence and support of all of you. Thank you for being with me on this journey, for not, as I told one new friend, "running for cover." Thank you for bringing meals, for making eye contact with my girls, for sending cards, for praying, for reading my streams of consciousness. Thank you for participating in a kind of community that I believe is the most effective--one that doesn't run from conflict or the truth, one that doesn't offer or accept easy answers, one that kicks in the strongest when the heat is on, one that knows that laughter and tears join the glorious river of life. And thanks for a laptop. It will be well loved and pounded upon enough to make it feel very worthwhile.
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