Sassafrass

One more June 29th

In 2002, this was a beautiful, blue sky, sunny day. I was finishing a paper I had hanging over my head, long overdue and necessary for me to finally, finally finish a graduate degree I'd technically completed three years earlier. My parents were sitting on the deck at their lake house. My brother was riding his motorcycle on a long road in Virginia with a few of his friends who had just rounded the bend ahead of him.

I won't ever forget that day because it is the day I logged off the dial-up internet service at my parents house and the phone immediately rang and the hospital chaplin told me my brother my brother had been in an accident, was being transported from the ER to the ICU, and yes, that it was very, very serious.

[My brother and I last summer at my grandmother's 100th birthday. We are blessed to share the genes of many fighters.]

You may know the story. I've talked about it many times here and other places. That day changed the course of the lives of everyone in my family and so this day is one that need to acknowledge.

[My brother at age 11 or 12. Such a baby face. I mean...so cool.]

I call this day my brother's Survive-iversary. I occasionally envision my brother in his toughest moments --- swollen, marred by road rash, stapped down and cuffed by a neck brace and countless tubes. Fitfully unconscious for days. Crying out in confusion and pain when the coma began to recede. Taking his first steps after re-teaching his body to walk. Sipping rootbeer floats in celebration of being released to do rehabilitation in Chicago, then to return to school again months later.

Even those celebrations were hard. The constant process of letting go of someone so vulnerable made my parents and I ache, even as we toasted rootbeer floats back at him, even as we thanked God when his skull, jaw, teeth, tracheotomy wound, scars, and pieces of his life mended.

The balance of that is that we did find joy, laughter, and amazingly, some good times in the midst of all that pain, in the harsh light of the hospital. In the years since we have found ways to do that again and again when the road ahead of us is uncontrollable and bending, grieving and healing, crying and laughing in turn.

Last year, I didn't write about my brother's survive-iversary here. It was just too much at that time for me. But like we do every year, he and I shared a moment together on the phone. Just like it all began, we stopped what we were doing and focused in on that moment in time.

[My family, last summer in Virginia.]

This year, we exchanged acknowledgements on Facebook before we found each other on the phone. The messenger may be changing but the message is the same. This year, unlike others, I did not cry. But on this beautiful, blue sky, sunny day, I did feel the same rush of relief I did when I finally got there, became the first family member to arrive in the ICU seven years ago, the same rhythmic prayer of thanks:

He's alive. He's alive.

It was enough. It was everything. It was June 29th.

Our own little public service announcement: My brother suffered a traumatic brain injury and was wearing a helmet. We still advocate helmet laws in every state, angering some commenters and connecting us to others. You can read more about our efforts to promote helmet laws and helmet use here and here.

Into the universe: Four words for my friend Matt

I celebrated the spring equinox in a yoga studio filled with other women. I was tired and excited to go out for a fun dinner later that night, but I knew I needed to be there.  My yoga teacher, a woman I adore and consider to be one of the people I was meant to meet on this planet, moved her practice to the suburbs last year and now I only see her during solstice and equinox workshops like this one. She has this gift, not just for breathing and stretching and letting the Sanskrit flow like poetry, but for intuitively reading what her students need. She doesn't do magic, but what happens in there sometimes has an air of meant-to-be-it-ness. And I love it.

I sat on my mat, palms open to the sky, deeply inhaling and exhaling as we chanted to Ganesha. In a pause, my teacher told us about the vibrational quality of mantras and how they heal. She told us she met a woman at a retreat recently and her mantra stuck with my teacher.

Only love is real.

That's what the woman told herself -- and the universe -- many times a day.

Only love is real.

That mantra almost knocked me over. Except that I was already grounded, spine straight and shoulders soft. Legs crossed and eyes closed. It almost knocked me over, but instead, it seeped in and filled up all those empty, anxious places where the worries have been echoing for too long.

I felt those new words do what my teacher said they would -- vibrate inside of me.

Only love is real.

It was powerful. And calming. It was a relief. These were the words I was waiting for, the ones I think I needed to find me.

Today, I am sitting cross-legged once again. My palms are turned down, tapping away at my laptop and texting furiously on my phone and typing terribly on my Blackberry. It is quiet here but less calm. And still, those words are bouncing off of everything around me.

Today is a big day for a blogger I feel honored to call my friend. Today, Matt Logelin's little girl turns one and he celebrates the anniversary of parenting this precious little blond baby with the big eyes and sweet smile. Tomorrow will mark one year since his wife Liz died.

Liz, who I guess many of us feel we know just like we feel we have the right to call Matt our friend after reading his prolific blog and paging through so many intimate photos of he and Maddy, left this world but certainly did not leave her husband and child behind. Matt stands, camera and daughter in hand, even when it is tough. Even when it is confusing. Even when it is hard. There he is, there they are.

When I thought of Matt and Madeline today, the mantra immediately came to mind. 

Only love is real.

I don't know what those words might mean to him...or them. But I am sending them off from my office to his corner of the world, bouncing all of the thoughts I have of hope and peace and calm and reassurance his way.

There's a lot that happens in this life. And who knows? Maybe more to come in the next. There's a lot that is stirred up in days like these, if not for us, then for people we call our friends.

And today, I hope that is all muted, even if just for a moment, by the sound of this mantra.

Only love is real.

Won't you please keep the energy moving and stop by and give Matt and Madeline some of your own real love today and tomorrow? It will be felt. I am sure of that.

If you are the praying kind

I was up too late last night again, but I was laughing and talking politics and kids and other good stuff on the phone and so it felt good and fun and worth the hours that slipped away from my sleep. And when I got off the phone to finally go to bed, I did what I do on most nights just before I turn off all the lights, wash my face, get a glass of water and check in on the boy one last time -- I breezed through my email, Twitter, Facebook.

My calm came to halt when I saw a post from the daughter of a friend asking for prayers for her mother - a young, vibrant, busy, amazing woman - who suffered a stroke yesterday. This friend has, without hesitation and with the kind of heart most people are afraid to reveal, supported my family during the toughest of times and during this past year.  I still have a calendar of Maya Angelou quotes and a beautiful votive candle with a sweet, spiritual quote inscribed on it that she sent when my brother was unconscious and we were all very scared about what would come in the hours and days and weeks to follow.

I lit that candle last night for my friend. Once a single mother herself, she's now the mother and stepmother of nine kids. She is kind and honest and so close to my own age that I had a moment of panic all parents have at all the unexpected things that can and do happen. I also know this woman is strong in body and spirit and faith, which I hope will reassure the many family members and friends I am sure are surrounding her today.

I believe - no, honestly, I have felt - the healing power of putting warm, positive energy into the universe. Whether you prayer or send up a good thought or meditate, will you please join me centering on this friend today? That her doctors and caregivers will be guided, her family will feel some peace and rest, and that she will get whatever it is she needs today to make her way back.

Something humbling and lovely

Yesterday, someone Google searched the phrase

do helmet laws infringe on personal freedom of choice

and found 74,800 responses.

My post was number one on the list.

I took a deep breath in and felt grateful to see that. In other combinations of terms, my post is further down list. I am good with that and mostly pleased to see the pool of responses widening out beyond the conservative publications and big newspapers. Whoever searched this term was asking an important question and honestly, in a wave-my-hand-at-the-person-with-the-microphone-way, it feels gratifying to be one of the respondents.

When I chose to write about my brother's motorcycle accident and then was asked to cross-post it on another site, it was one part cathartic and one part goodwill. I talked to my brother about it and we decided it was important to put the story out there for many reasons, one of them to connect to kids writing paper, parents grieving, people on all sides of the controversy. Every single day, someone finds Sassafrass and that story from a search like this, and that tells me we were right to put my words on the screen.

There's a lot more to be written. If you or a loved one has experienced a brain injury, I hope you will leave a comment or share whatever you are comfortable sharing. If you found us from one of these searches, please feel free to speak up too.

Of course, one of the beauties of blogs is the ability to lurk quietly from behind your own computer. But know that the welcome mat is out to all of you wanting to read more about motorcyle helmet lobbying, traumatic brain injuries, the life that can follow or even just one family's trip from roadside through rehabilitation and beyond.

UPDATE: WhyMommy's feeling free!

You know the universe is right when things are good on Toddler Planet. WhyMommy, who underwent a double mastectomy as one of the final stops on her journey through inflammatory breast cancer, soared through the surgery and is healing well.

As women and mothers, and for good, for bad, for harassing, for nurturing, for passionate, for problematic, for boosted, for deflated, for all of the things our breasts are or have been, sitting there at the front and center of us, many of us cannot imagine not having them there at all. WhyMommy and several other women I admire have written and spoken so honestly about   releasing their breasts to surgery once there is cancer or the possibility of cancer.

It reminds me of a college roommate who used to designate time in the evening to take off her bra under her t-shirt and just let go. This might seem like no biggie to those grrrls with itty-bitties, but to those of us who are busty (as my mom says), it is. My roommate referred to this time as "free-boobin' it." And now that I've read the back and forth WhyMommy had at being boobless and the relief and seeming peace at seeing the scars begin to heal already, "free boobing" sounds like just the right term for the situation.

I appreciate that so much, and I am celebrating all that is ahead for WhyMommy and other survivors.  Here's to you, boobs or not, feeling free.

Today, for WhyMommy

Today, I will give my boy an extra long good-morning hug, even if he wiggles out of it and even if he doesn't savor the sweetness of the moment like I will.

Today, I will send out warm thoughts to all the inspirational survivors I know, to all the people who have hearts and courage and hope stronger than violence, illness, injury, circumstances way beyond anyone's control. And to those who have safely boarded their flight to the next plane, and the family members they've left to continue their work on this planet.

Today, I will take more than one grateful moment to lift up the blessings and turn away from the challenges.

Today, I will revisit some of the posts and blogs I've admired by women who've chosen to write with rawness and eloquence and sincerity about the truth of their lives, whatever their choices and journeys have been.

Today, I will seek out an opportunity to do or say something kind just because I see the opportunity.

Today, I will call one of the many friends I've been meaning to call but haven't made the time to call but really, really want to call.

Today, I will send all my healing energy to WhyMommy who is on a journey through cancer with more wholeness, grace and honesty than any mother with cancer would ever be expected to have.

I won't ask you to get on board with all of today's to-dos. They are my own personal missions in honor of WhyMommy and in gratitude for the life I have right now, in this moment, at this time, today. But please do join me (and many others) in sending a prayer, a comment, a blessing, a bit of the love you have to give WhyMommy's way as she undergoes a double mastectomy and as she looks toward many tomorrows.

I pray that God holds WhyMommy in the palm of her hand and that all of the goodness sent her way will lift up this amazing writer, mother, wife, woman and give her peace.

Two families you've got to meet

Now more than ever, I appreciate what it means to take a good, honest look at your family. And then, for whatever it is in its glory and challenges and smiles and jaws gritted in frustration, making a commitment to be the very best family you can be. I especially appreciate when that best family has room for all of the personalities and problems and possibilities of each person within it.

Maybe it is some of our hardest and most important work to look at the families we are in and commit to rising to the challenges together. The more families I meet through my work and play and neighborhoods and blogs and church and randomly while plying small children with overwhelmingly frosted seasonal cookies at Starbucks, the more I see that it doesn't matter at all who makes up that family or how they all landed together, but rather, how they choose to be and love together.

Perhaps the best of these lessons comes from the people I have the privilege of meeting on CarePages. I profile their journeys into -- and often, through -- life-changing illness and injury.  As a part of the profiles, I read their family websites, page through pictures and interview them. Inevitably, I hit send on my stories filled with inspiration and insights into how to live my own life a little more authentically, with a little more gratitude.

I'd love to introduce you to two families who have been through a lot in the last year -- the Greenbergs and the Knolls.

Both families faced medical crises suddenly and both relied on the strengths and gifts unique to their individual personalities and who they are together to stay focused, positive, hopeful and move every single day toward collective healing. They are amazingly articulate, funny, resourceful, humble, clever, centered and full of so much spirit.

Are these kinds of characteristics the cure for startling, serious illness? Of course not. But what I've also seen is that these characteristics seem to propel the person who is diagnosed forward while pulling their circle of loved ones in close. Thank God, for whatever reason, these families are thriving.

Today, Annie Greenberg, diagnosed this fall with sepsis following pneumonia, and Greg Knoll, diagnosed a year ago with a rare and unexpected cancer, are not just surviving but living well.

Families are not perfect or infallible -- we all know that. We all know that very well. But in the critical moments, when the change slams down or creeps upon us, I really believe that who we are impacts how we get through.

I hope you will take a moment to get to know the Greenbergs and the Knolls, even if you just peek in on the photos that radiate all kinds of good stuff I imagine we all want to incorporate or emphasize or encourage in the families we have, the families we are and the families we so want to be.

Things happen. And often, more quickly than we could ever be prepared for or anticipate. Maybe the gift that the Greenbergs and Knolls offer, the one that stands next to seeing exactly what it is we can survive, is that we have opportunities right here and right now to look closely at our own families. While we can be quiet, while the year is new, while we are healthy and have the chance, maybe now is the best time ever to take the honest look and redefine or redesign our families to get through the big stuff and the everydays.

It is hard work. Believe me, I know. But Annie's smile and the way Greg looks at his wife and daughters tells me it is all so worth it.

Project: Life Change. Really, I'm good.

Finally, it was a good, good day. An empowering day, a day of weights lifted. I feel my life spreading wings and spanning out across time and space and many years, rather than being closed tightly around several months of great pain and deep heartache, rather than the self-protection and vulnerability of the moments that have just passed.

There will be more grieving, I am sure. Now, I am going to revel in this lightness and grace a little bit. I am going to laugh louder today when it strikes me, not rush through bedtime songs and stories and question after preschool question. I am going to look at myself in the mirror to see if the twinkle is back in my eyes.

It's not that I want to stare at myself or ignore the logistics of my life, of our lives. It's just that I'm into reflections right now.

I want to see if how I feel today is showing. In these six or seven long and turbulent weeks, everything I've been feeling has been falling off me in pounds and in hours of sleep and in too many tears.

But not today. Today it is -- and the only words that I can think of come from Maya Angelou --

It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally.*

That feeling isn't just something. It's everything. At least for today.

*Thanks, CityMama, for your sageness in keeping me centered on these lines.

[photo credit: Jessica Ashley] 
 

You've got to meet this kid

Last month, I interviewed Cailey, a young woman with a very big life. She was born with a congenital heart disease and two years ago at the age of 13, had a very complicated heart surgery. Today, she is as I imagine she's always been -- bubbling with joy and laughter and introspection. As I spoke with her and her father, as I read her website, as I wrote a profile of her and even corresponded with her a bit by email, she inspired me.

In these tough weeks, Cailey's stayed with me. She doesn't settle into her difference or what she's survived. This is the life she is living and already, she is doing it fully. And that doesn't even include all the phenomenal dreams she's devising for herself.

There are people I get to write about who speak to my soul, even in a short hour on the phone. Cailey is one of those people and when you read just a bit about her, I think you will feel the same.

If you are the praying or good energy or warm thought or vibrations in the universe type of person, take this Sunday to send a bit of your own light up and out to Cailey.  Somewhere in Texas, I imagine, she's doing that for someone else, and wouldn't that make for a rich beginning to the week?

Project: Life Change. Of course. That is, change of course.

My priorities have shifted in the last month because, as I've mentioned here vaguely, we've had some turmoil in our home. And really, that is like saying parenting is hard when sometimes it feels absolutely handleable and the next moment, insurmountable. I wrote a bit about what we're are trying to move through here.

This is tough for me to write about here because it is not all mine. But several of you have kindly asked me if I am OK and even more kindly, asked my mom if I am OK. The answer is: I am trying.

I am trying to take care of myself because it is important for me and because I understand (now) that it is the best thing I can do as a mother. I am reaching out to my friends (thank you) and my parents (and thank you) and even to my blogging friends (and also you). I am reading good stuff and praying and tonight, I am going to get back to meditating because it helps my fast-forward-prone mind just rest.

And tomorrow, I am taking the day off guilt-free and going to lunch with my grrrlfriend Molls who, by the way, is getting married in March. I want to help her pick out a cake but I also want to bask in a bit of that boundless joy. I might even order a drink. After that, we're going to a movie. In the middle of the day.   

My Project: Life Change has taken an unexpected turn, or perhaps more accurately, veered way out on some frontage road I don't recognize yet. But I have not forgotten my commitment to myself and I have not forgotten all the hard work and questions and challenges and good stuff going on with many of you.  But let's not forget that even the most industrious, ambitious, A students among us need a break. Even from the release.

Safely aboard

This morning, I led the prayer at my church. I love to do this because I love the challenge and the centeredness that comes in piecing together words into one prayer. Before I stood up in front of the congregation, my heart was racing with the normal nervousness of speaking your writing aloud, especially to a large group of people. And my thoughts kept turning over and over to Miles Levin.

And then I looked down at the bulletin. August 19th. I believe that it is his birthday. I felt like I'd been patted on the shoulder, reassured why I was thinking of this now-19-year old who has been writing about his journey through cancer for two years. When I stood up in front of the congregation, I asked them to pray for Miles and his many loved ones, especially his family, especially today, especially as he makes the transition into death. Whether I have his birthday correct or not, I remember reading that he really wanted to make it to that day, and that seems to count for much more than the number on the calendar.

It was raining hard and I got home, changed my clothes, kissed Lil E and Bruce and checked my email. And there it was. Miles died early this morning, released from the pain and the deeply emotional struggle with cancer.

I'd like to believe that this man's spirit is now free and I understand that his family must be overwhelmed with new pain and unspeakable loss. Surely, our prayers, warm thoughts and healing wishes can only do good.



If you'd like to read more about Miles, you can start here.

If you are the praying kind

There is much to write about our trip to Las Vegas and the boy and little life details, but that all feels quite small now.

For several months, I've had the privilege of writing Stories of Inspiration for CarePages, a resource that offers free websites to people who need to communicate with loved ones when someone is facing an illness or injury.

CarePages is a great site and I get to interview and write profiles of the people who are using their own online updates and photo galleries to keep loved ones and even strangers connected. It has been a good writing challenge for me, a powerful and exhausting emotional investment and a part of my professional and spiritual calling.

Of course, as soon as I read the pages and interview the moms of premature babies, the dads of very ill kids, the people recovering from intensive cancer treatment -- whatever their situations and stories are -- I am involved. This investment is necessary as I write about them, but even more, is just what happens among people put together like this. Their stories impact me and that is a good thing, a growing thing.

Last month, I wrote a Story of Inspiration on Miles Levin, a 19-year old kid with a rare form of aggressive cancer and a lot to say. He's kept a prolific and philosophical blog on his CarePage and out of that and the energy he's fed to the universe during his treatment and travels over the last two years, he's been interviewed by Anderson Cooper and guest-blogged on Anderson Cooper 360, covered by CNN and met Bob Woodruff.

He's received many accolades. His mother and father and sister have guest-blogged on his CarePage and their insights and activism have touched me. He's received more than 5,000 messages to date and has made friends with many of the people from around the world who post on his message board.

And now, Miles is dying. His mother often talks about the spaceship coming for him and it feels strangely and sweetly right. Because I interviewed his father and because of the timing of the story, I've never met or spoken to Miles. But I feel close to him, perhaps because of the way he writes, perhaps because I wrote about him, perhaps because of where we each are in our journey.

As this happens, I am full of gratitude and some grief. It is hard to face that things like this happen to people, let alone kids, let alone boys with floppy brown hair and soulful eyes that of course remind me of my own sweet monkey. I am also full of prayers for the whole family, that they may find what they need in this single moment. Peace. Silence. Reassurance. Laughter. Sleep. Memories. Comfort. Hope. Whatever it is, I hope it winds its way to their home.

And if you are a person who prayers or pushes energy out into the world or just takes a moment of silence, will you join me? Today, for Miles Levin and his family.

Survive-iversary (a replay)

Last week, on June 29th, my brother celebrated his fifth survive-iversary. That day five years ago was the hardest day of my life and yet, I am committed to celebrating it every June.

I thought this year, I would go into that celebration quietly. And then I interviewed and wrote profiles on four people in treatment for or recovery from cancer. I got so invested in the emotion of their stories, I could barely write anything else last week. And then I read that WhyMommy at Toddler Planet would be giving away her registration to BlogHer because she will need to give her time, attention, energy and body to chemo. She asked to hear some survivor stories and I felt compelled to share my family's story of just getting through. It is a replay, published last year on another blog, but new here.

So here is to the spirit within and the forces much greater than us -- kindness, God, good people, love, hope, some little moment in the future, the inexplicable, prayer, determination -- that get us through somehow, that make all of us who've been at that tough point in the journey survive.

Read on for Survive-iversary, 2006.

 

Today is one of those days when tears are out of both sadness and joy. Today marks the day that four years ago, my brother survived a very serious motorcycle accident.

Four years ago today, we didn't know for sure if he would survive but we did know that the doctors, nurses, prayers and great hope were already at work so that Seth would see many more days.

At the time, we all operated minute by minute, painstaking hour by hour. It was heart-wrenching to think beyond those small circles of time. In the moment, we couldn't envision what the next procedure might hold, let alone four years down the line. And yet, by the grace of God, here we are. Here we all are. 

Survive-iversary flowers, 2005