Beyond the Clipboard...

I have this darling friend named Camilla and one of my MOST favorite principles of love and service I learned during Eric's battle was from her and her husband.  I've been excited to share this story with you and was glad when I woke up this morning with the feeling that today was the day to get it written down.

The Relief Society is the Women's Organization of the LDS Church.  Worldwide, it has about 6 million members and is one of the oldest and largest Women's Organizations in the World. I've been part of this amazing sisterhood for nearly 20 years now; it's a huge part of my life and where most of my dearest relationships are formed.  It's not just an educational part of church where the women are taught and instructed in a one hour meeting on Sundays; another primary function of the group is to offer relief to others, just like the title states.  So, it was no surprise when Eric was originally diagnosed in 2012, these ladies where immediately on the job!  Calling, checking in, stopping by, offering help in many ways... they kept me in great supply of my beloved Diet Cokes, even dropped by cookie dough and treats for the kids.  Probably most importantly, by being present... it seemed someone was always there when I needed to cry. They also offered to bring in meals on Fridays through that first Summer.  Although I hesitated, (as no one EVER wants to have THEIR name on a clipboard...) but deep down I knew it would be a welcomed relief when the meals were delivered.  As soon as I gave the go-ahead... they wasted no time getting organized and the next time they met, they passed around a sign-up sheet on a clipboard with about 12 Fridays laid out on the list.

I wasn't in there that day - as my volunteer assignment had me on the other side of the building with the children - but what I heard both warmed my heart and taught me a lesson I will never forget.  My friend Camilla called me later that afternoon and explained to me what had happened.  As is customary when announcements are made at the beginning of the meeting, the clipboard and "the plan" to help was announced to the group.  The sign-up sheet was then passed around and by the time it got to Camilla's row, all 12 Fridays had been filled.  I wish you could hear the cute animation in her darling Brazilian accent as she relayed to me how she reacted to this list being full.   She said something like, "I was so mad!  I'd been waiting for an opportunity to help and when the clipboard moved about the room I was anxiously waiting for my turn to pick a week.  When it got to me, it was filled!  I thought to myself - WHAT?!!  I have to wait clear until September to feed the Bomsta's?!! No way, I am so mad!!"  She continued to tell me that on the way home from church that day she complained to her husband that BECAUSE SHE WAS SITTING IN THE BACK OF THE ROOM she lost her opportunity to help and was mad the days had been grabbed so quickly.  Had she known, she'd have sat right in the front!

Lovingly, and perfectly... her husband said to her, "Camilla.  Do you think the Bomsta's eat on other days of the week?  I'm just thinking out loud here... but maybe you could just call her and offer to bring in a meal on another day.  I don't know... like on a Wednesday?"

Oh my word!  As she was telling me this whole story, we were both laughing and I could see the whole thing "going down" in my mind.  What a fun sight... it not only relieved my worry about being a burden to others, it helped me see how many willing friends were around us... just waiting for a turn to help.  I love her sweet husband for pointing out, in such a sweet way... that a whole new level of angelic service is going beyond the clipboard.

Camilla, on the errand of angels, brought us a delicious, authentic Brazilian feast just a few days later...  

"When we speak of those who are instruments in the hand of God, we are reminded that not all angels are from the other side of the veil. Some of them we walk with and talk with — here, now, every day. Some of them reside in our own neighborhoods. ... Indeed heaven never seems closer than when we see the love of God manifested in the kindness and devotion of people so good and so pure that angelic is the only word that comes to mind." - Elder Holland, LDS Church Apostle

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A Lesson at Panera...

One afternoon during Eric's first year of treatment, we left early for chemo so we could grab a bite on our way.  We decided to stop at Panera and sat there eating like two, completely normal people. We chatted like any other couple, smiled at each other... and even let out an occasional giggle. By all appearances, we blended into the crowd and there was no way anyone could guess our awful predicament and circumstance. We weren't crying, we weren't upset... we were having a decent time, a normal lunch like anyone would.  At one point, I suddenly recognized how "normal" we actually looked.  Eric was bald, but he is so cute bald (okay, he's hot bald) - so who would know he wasn't bald by choice?  For a minute I felt myself pretend we weren't fighting for Eric's life or on our way to get poison pumped through his veins. It was refreshing to be in a place where people didn't tear up when they saw us, it was nice that no one hugged me and asked how we were doing - and I didn't miss the looks of pity at all.  We started enjoying ourselves, basking in our moment of - what appeared to others to be - just a normal lunch.  As we continued talking about it Eric posed a prolific question... "If we look THIS NORMAL, can you imagine what must be going on at the next table?  Or the table over there?"  Wow.  Good point.  What is it they say?  Looks can be deceiving?  Yep.  That's absolutely true.  In that moment, we looked like a happy couple - out to lunch during the week without a care in the world.  Yet, we were quite the opposite.  Full of anxiety, worry, stress with EVERY care in the world.  There we were... looking SO normal - and yet we were on our way to battle the scary invaders that had taken over our family and threatened to rob Eric of his life.  

Since that day, I've thought often about what Eric said and how we looked sitting there.  I've thought of the faces that were scattered around us and thought deeply about what might have been going on in their lives.  I imagine there were people among us that day who had lost loved ones, maybe having problems in a relationship, dealing with wayward teens or addictions.  Maybe some who were depressed, had lost a job or facing financial stresses.... yet in the disguise of a normal activity like eating lunch it would be impossible to detect.  So many of the toughest battles we face in our lives cannot simply been seen on our faces.  Wouldn't it just be safer (and kinder) to assume everyone is fighting a hard battle?  As I've practiced this, and I'm not all the way there yet... I've seen a really cool change in myself.  I'm quicker to help, faster to smile and a much less likely to judge. Most of all, I've found that it has added to my own happiness. We're all fighting battles... let's all be a little kinder, a little more quick to live the golden rule... what a difference that would make - no only in our own lives, but in the lives of others.

Image: {Here}

Do small things with great love...

I have so many cool stories I can't wait to share about how others have shared our burden, come to our rescue and shown us amazing, unconditional love. In fact, I could write nothing BUT those stories and it excites me to begin the process of recording them. One particular experience has been on my mind today and I knew it was time to write it up.

I have a friend at church named Sue.  She's a mother and grandmother - and the woman seriously has a heart of gold.  She's unique... a bit quirky maybe, but compassionate beyond description. I've grown to love and respect her very much and know few others that love as unconditionally as she does. Another thing I love about Sue (and this might sound odd) but she always has yummy gum. As in like... remind-you-of-your-childhood-super-delicious sweet-watermelon-flavored gum.  Just chatting with her, you can smell the sweet scent and you can't help but smile while your taste buds scream for a piece.  On more than one occasion, I've complimented her on this lovely aroma and have been rewarded with a stick to enjoy.  Kind of a silly, insignificant thing, but a fun connection I have with this sweet friend.  She'll even pass me (or my wild 8 year old) a piece between pews if I wink and give her a signal! :)

I was at church, it was probably only a Sunday or two after Eric had been diagnosed for the second time.  I always hated those initial weeks - the first time you see someone, it's either emotional or awkward and I dreaded the duty of individually breaking that ice with everyone. It's just hard. When the meetings were over that day and I was be-lining for the door, she stopped me.  She grabbed my hand and immediately I could see her eyes welling up with the biggest tears you've ever seen. As if she'd had it forever and had just been waiting for the right moment... she put her hand in her pocket and pulled out a package of her famous "Watermelon Twist" gum. Not just ANY old pack... it was a gift; adorned with a small bow tied with baker's twine. In her soft, choked up voice... she said, "I'm so sorry. I just didn't know what else to do when I heard."  She hugged me so tight and in my ear she pleaded for me to call her when I needed help with the kids; a promise that her husband could bring her over anytime I needed her. Understandably, my eyes welled up too when I realized how much she loved me, cared about our family and how much she had wracked her brain to think of the right things to do and say the first time she saw me. My heart melted, not really over the pack of gum, but because she thought of the one personal thing that connected us and used that to show her love. Her gesture that day was nothing short of perfect and I think of it often.

I love you, Sue.  Thank you for teaching me that small things, done or given with great love, can make the biggest difference - even if it's just a .99 cent pack of gum.

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Loving the present...

Rewind to November 12, 2012...  It was a rainy and dreary Friday. We had just finished Eric's 12th and final round of chemo from his first diagnosis. To add insult to injury, we were also going on DAY 12 with no power, heat or running water from the havoc wreaked by Hurricane Sandy. I know. Brilliant timing. The physical and emotional exhaustion after 8 excruciating months of chemo on all of us is impossible to describe and to come home to an empty, cold house was almost more than I could stand. I had farmed the kids out for the weekend to stay with friends so that Eric could sleep and recover by the fire in the family room; the one room in the house that we could keep warm. I'm NOT the "farm your kids out" kind of mom - I'm like a hen, I like my chickies close.  So coming home and having them gone was like the icing on the cake of hitting rock bottom. After I got a fire started and had Eric settled in, I laid there in the dark listening to the logs crack and the tears I had been working so hard to dam up began to rush.  In a matter of minutes, I was drenched with my own tears and my body convulsed as intense emotion and despair finally overcame me.  It was in that moment that I truly knew what it meant to weep. To really, really weep. As the hours went on, well past midnight - I remember pleading, absolutely begging the Lord to put my life on fast forward.  I didn't just want our current circumstance to be over, I wanted to be past it.  I wanted to be so far ahead that the sting of it all was forgotten. I would have offered a limb, a million dollars, my soul - if only to fly past one year, JUST ONE YEAR to get this awful hell behind us.  

I eventually fell asleep and morning came. Two days later, the power was back on and the kids came home. What followed the next few months was a slow, but welcomed recovery. By January he was back to work and little by little it seemed we were getting back to that "normal" we used to love. The better and better he felt, the better I felt. The whole feeling in our home turned from anxiety and stress to laughter and fun. The sweetness and appreciation for each other, for life, increased 10 fold and those 3 or 4 months were awesome.  I felt the skip in my step return, I no longer had to just "grin and bear it".  I started designing again and my creativity exploded.  Eric felt well enough to travel. I painted. We had moved into our new house just a few weeks before he was diagnosed, so I was anxious to decorate and put my stamp on it. We even went on a vacation to Washington DC.  Life was seriously awesome. It was a new kind of normal, a new kind of awesome, and although the fear of ongoing scans loomed in the background - and I appreciated every second of it.

Then... in a unique moment, just about a year later, suddenly the remembrance of that awful night flooded back to my mind. The experience had been so vivid, I could almost smell the fire and I physically cringed just thinking of it. I remembered how I had BEGGED for life to advance past the turmoil we were in. Ironic that now, about a year later, we were back in the hospital.  Months had passed since a second diagnosis robbed us of that new found relief and Eric was sleeping, hooked up to a centrifuge collecting his stem cells for transplant. I almost fell over when I realized it.  Had the Lord granted my wish to advance a year - we would have missed those precious months of bliss before he was diagnosed again. We would have missed the wonderful feeling of remission and the relief and happiness that came with that.  We would have missed the growth, the gratitude and the quality that LIVING IT had added to our life.  By all accounts, one year from that awful night - we were now in a much worse, far more serious and life threatening situation.  I couldn't BELIEVE I unknowingly WISHED for that!!   It was in that moment that I learned how important and ESSENTIAL it is to live in the present. Today is a gift. Who knows what tomorrow or next week or next year may bring?  It was that day that I chose to appreciate each day for what it was, no matter what.  Wishing away today would be a huge mistake!  Looking back... I might even realize that those days, the days I wanted to end so badly, were actually some of the sweetest days.

From that day forward, I vowed to no longer wish away my circumstance... but to embrace it.

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