My Baby Can Heal the Flu

This week I was scrolling through Facebook and I saw it was the 20th anniversary of the release of the first Harry Potter book. Images of a boy with a lightning scar flooded my newsfeed and my mind was transported back to the winter of 2001 when I was first introduced to the infamous book series. That winter was one of the hardest of my life and those books helped create memories of light during a dark and uncertain time. In the fall of 2000 my close-knit family (my mom, dad, and older brother) was shaken to the core by a cancer diagnosis. My mom, who is an eternal ray of metaphorical sunshine, found out she had breast cancer. I was only 15 years-old at the time, stuck in that delicate balance of adolescence and adulthood. When my mom told me the news, many of the thoughts that ran through my mind were, ‘can this really be happening’ and ‘I thought only other people got cancer’. Without our approval, we were all forced to enter a world where cancer is real. And it was scary. We had zero warning and no practice, yet we had to try to navigate the new terrain of a life-threatening disease and wrestled with the uncertainties that it held. I am incredibly thankful to be able to say that the story of my mom having breast cancer has a happy ending. But, it was not absent of pain, tears, and a whole lot of fear. 

After medical consults from top notch doctors, they decided the course of treatment would be a lumpectomy followed by radiation and then dreaded chemotherapy. As with most chemotherapy patients, the treatments wore her out pretty badly. All she could do for a couple days afterward was lie on the couch only getting up to use the restroom. She would mostly sleep and read while the time passed and her body tried to recover from everything it had endured. One day during one of her off weeks of treatment, she told me that a friend of hers had dropped off a book that was part of a series. She then asked me if I had ever heard of the Harry Potter books. I told her no and she said she was going to read the first book while she recovered from her next treatment. This new routine had taken over our lives and we all tried to settle into the new pattern of having her be sick after a chemo session. I  tried to stay positive, but eventually I began to get restless as I tried to figure out ways I could help her or at least be some sort of comfort. 

One afternoon I aimlessly wandered into the living room where she was dozing on the couch. It wasn’t unusual to find her resting there. That spot on the couch had become her quiet safe haven. I hesitantly sat down in the chair on the other side of the room and watched her for a moment, selfishly missing the days when we would talk for hours while we shopped at our favorite thrift shops and ate bagel sandwiches for lunch. I wanted to be mature and support her any way I could, but the kid that was still in me just wanted my mom back. But, even more than that, the adult version of myself that was beginning to form truly wanted to be helpful for her. How does a sophomore in high school help her mom as she endures painful and agonizing chemotherapy treatment? As I contemplated what I could do to alleviate her burden, I watched her chest move up and down with slow, even breaths. I paused as I watched her lay there, alive, and quietly thanked God for the simple fact that she was still breathing. I thought she was asleep but after a moment she opened her eyes, most likely having felt my presence staring at her. Then she slowly and intentionally pulled back her knees so that the end of the couch was clear. I wasn't quite following what she meant so she pointed the top of her head to the empty side of the couch. She wanted me to lie down on the couch with her. She was inviting me into her sanctuary. 

And so we found a rhythm within our new circumstances. I would come home from school, quietly plop my backpack on the floor and immediately walk over to where I knew my mom would be. If she was awake, she always shifted her legs at the sight of me to make room. If she was asleep I would carefully climb over her feet and wedge myself into the spot between the couch and her curled up body. Shortly after I joined her that first day, I saw book one of the Harry Potter series laying on the floor next to her (she had already moved on to book two). She saw me glance at the book, quietly handed it to me, and I read. I would come home from school and we would read, together. It was such an overwhelming relief to once again have something that was ours. Sometimes I would hear her burst out laughing at a certain part in the book and she would try to say between cackles 'When you get to the Whomping Willow part, <chuckle> let me know’. Other times I would begin to blurt out some realization from the latest plot reveal and look over at her to see she had drifted off to sleep with her current book resting on her chest. In those moments I would relish the warmth emanating from her feet as they rested under my legs. I hoped that our afternoons together were somewhat helpful. I hoped they made her feel less alone. 

After a long and grueling winter, the inevitable new life of spring came bounding forward. And for our little family we celebrated the new life of my mom, because cancer had been beaten and her life was given back to her. Now more than 15 years has passed and when I see a Harry Potter book on a shelf, my heart feels a little more full because I remember that gift of time I was given with my mom. 

This past winter I caught a nasty strain of the flu and was stuck in a horizontal position for quite a few days. One afternoon my four-year-old daughter came quietly tip-toeing over to me as I was on the couch to ask if quiet time was over. I thought maybe this would be a perfect opportunity to invite her into the tradition my mom and I have of sharing a couch. She had my Kindle in her hands with hopes that I would agree to letting her play a game. I grinned at her little face and pointed to the opposite end of the couch. I told her that is how I always shared the couch with my mommy but she glanced to the end of the couch and assertively shook her head no. She then said 'Umm no thanks. I'm gonna be here right next to you. Can you scoot over a little bit?' I couldn't stifle the chuckle that rose from my belly because I remembered that even though my usual spot with my mom was the opposite end of the couch, there were also a couple times when I crawled in next to her too. Because even though I was a 15-year-old teenager, I was still just someone’s baby.

So, my daughter and I rested there together for a sweet bit of time, her elbow digging into my side and the annoying sound of her little kid game filling my ears and assuring that I would most definitely not be sleeping anymore. And I was content. After a few minutes she started to squirm and get uncomfortable so she eventually stood up and took her spot on the other end of the couch. I showed her how to curl her feet so that they tucked up under my legs and we stayed there together for the rest of the afternoon. Even though my body felt rotten, the nearness of my daughter had made the burden of illness on my soul feel so much lighter.

Maybe lying on the couch with my mom all those years ago actually helped her more than I ever realized. 

I love you Momma. 

Blessings,

Shantastic

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