Embracing Life

When my fitness tracker buzzed me awake this morning, I was not in a good place. For starters, I had woken up several times in the night in small bursts of anxiety. This is not uncommon to happen once in a night. I usually go right back to sleep after convincing myself that I have not lost the car keys, I have not failed to pay a key bill, no tree has fallen on the house and yes, the furnace is running and no, I have not been dismissed from my job. Last night before going to bed I was a little more amped up than usual because the kids' school district had announced an early release for this afternoon due to the impending nasty snowstorm, and I was all abuzz about how to handle that. Would the College close early, too? Would I know in time to manage the kids arrival? I'll cancel class but is that doing my job? How many favors can I ask of friends before I'm a big problem to them? Why do I have to be the solo parent? My mind was not in a restful state to sleep well and I didn't. Each time I woke up I noticed that the TV was still on with the residue of my Homeland episode, a desolate blue screen lighting the wall. Several times I thought, I should really turn that off, but couldn't summon the energy. Or maybe it's something else, turning the TV off would remove any perception of not being alone in my bedroom. Regardless of motivation or lack thereof, I left it on to further disrupt my sleep.

When I did wake to face the day, I opened my eyes to see the empty side of the bed and was not happy to find that Chris was still not there. Surprise, he's still dead, this nightmare has no end. As I berated myself for the deep-seated waiting feeling in my heart, the permanence of the situation descended like the snowstorm that was closing in. Grumpy does not do justice to what I felt; I did not want to "do" life today and I was downright glowering about needing to. While I wasn't able to view it this way in the moment, the blessing of having children now is that there is no choice but to get up, fix breakfasts, write a note for a dismissal change, walk to the bus stop. Reminiscent of a father from an opposing baseball team excitedly encouraging his son in the batter's box to "DO SOMETHING!" my children's benevolent demands propelled me to take a swing at life, saving me from a morning of wallowing.

I thought of Chris, who faced an uncertain, daunting future for so many years but kept going. He showed up for us every single day. Not once did he wallow though he surely must have been tempted. Chris did not have a bad attitude even when the going was at its toughest. When life threw only crappy pitches in the dirt and at his head, he took a million swings because Chris just wanted a chance to play. Leaving the analogy behind, Chris embraced life at every step. I honestly don't know how he did it. Chris faced his mortality head on and made the most of every day he had left. Here are some of the ways that Chris lived fully:

After surgery and radiation, Chris rehabbed his way back from not being able to come up with the terms "parking meter" and "pyramid" to publishing several highly regarded journal articles, organizing conferences, and leading scientific collaborations. 

After being told he would only live 10-20 more years, Chris decided that he would not give up on building our family as we had envisioned. After taking time to consider the consequences, he fully embraced the idea of a second baby. Then, he doted on her and reveled in the joy she brought to our family. As a kind neighbor said, Chris said yes to life in a big way in this regard.

There was a particularly awful day in the summer of 2017. Chris's clinical trial doctor popped her head in the exam room to share an exciting result that his tumor had shrunk by 30%. He was happy and excited, texting me the unexpected good news, only to be crushed 20 minutes later when she came back to say no, sorry, there was a mistake in the software measurements and instead the tumor had actually grown so much he was no longer eligible for the clinical trial. Once home, instead of vibrating with rage as I was over the preposterous false hope given to him, Chris allowed himself to cry on the porch for a few minutes. Then, he wanted the whole family to take a dip in the backyard pool. He shot baskets and tossed inflatable rings with the kids all the while allowing the sun to shine on his face. Chris always showed up for us, even on this and several other bad news days.  

During a 2017 trip to northern Minnesota to celebrate my parents' 50th wedding anniversary, Chris enjoyed a couple of long hikes even while in the thick of treatment, 7 and 9 miles if I remember. In 2018, his balance was compromised and walking became much more difficult. Long hilly hikes were not really possible, but Chris enjoyed what was - showing his kids a flatter stretch of the Appalachian trail in Vermont, stops at amazing waterfalls, walks on local conservation land, and simple short walks just on our street. Chris soaked it all up. He did not complain about what was lost, he went after what was possible and he enjoyed it, with us.

Even this last Christmas Eve in the heart of the most difficult days of his life, Chris was able to rally. Despite his arm not working and needing a wheelchair, Chris talked with every one of his family members, laughed during the gift swap, enjoyed good food. It was the last truly good night and he made the most of it. 

There are so many ways that Chris embraced life. Some truly incredible like expanding the family, but many more that I was hardly aware of when they happened. He quietly did what he could to make the most of every single day. It puts me to shame. He would never want me to feel bad, but I do. Quite a lot. This time is really not much fun for me and I don't feel like I'm embracing it; I'm reluctantly enduring it when he would have jumped at the chance to wake up today and hit start on the coffee. 

Chris would have understood that just getting through these days should be considered success in this situation. I know if he were here, Chris would encourage me to see it that way and he would tell me that enduring is acceptable right now. I hope he would even be a little bit proud of us that we cleared the driveway of snow before the rain set in to weigh it down, that I started the snowblower up and dug out the mailbox from the crummy job the plow did, and that I smiled watching our daughter play that she was a lion prowling in the snow (her word choice, spelled P-R-O-W-L). Chris was always so generous and kind, I'm quite sure he would tell me that my effort today was good enough to count as embracing life.

I'll keep going. When I feel like I can't, I'll try to remember the many ways he did. That's the best I can do right now. I miss him so much.