Today is Just a Day

10 May 2015 2 Comments

by Suelinhess in child abuse, Childhood Memories, children, Family, hope, Mother, Mothers' Day, parenting, unhappy childhood Tags: , , , , , , , ,

Mothers’ Day has always been a day of conflict for me. When I was a little girl, and my elementary school teachers would help us make cards and gifts to bring home for that special day, I always presented them to my mother, heart bursting with pride, hoping she would see how much I loved her by how much glitter I glued on the construction paper. Of course, my mother was an artist, a world-renowned artist. “Thank you, that’s nice” was the best I could hope for, and one raised eyebrow at my stick-figure drawings told me my artwork was not so nice. I recall most of my time with my parents filled with my yearning for a mom and dad like my friends’ moms and dads; parents who enjoyed their children and who wanted to be parents. My parents always reminded us that #1 all three of us girls were meant to be boys to carry on the family name, and #2 my mother was especially careful to let us know that she never wanted children (we interfered with her blossoming art career) but she did it to make our dad happy. My childhood heartbreak gradually hardened in my teenage years, into a resolve to find or make a family that would love me as much as I loved them. I stopped paying attention to Mothers’ Days because the only mothers I ever met who I wanted to thank, already belonged to other people like my friends. Oh, how I coveted their moms. My best friend Kirsten’s mom even let me call her Mom while we lived in Shanghai. For years, that gave me the greatest comfort.

Finally, I grew up and had the baby I always dreamed of loving. The moment our eyes made contact, I felt hit with a bolt of lightning; THIS was what I was meant to do, to be the most loving mother to this baby girl. Every single bad memory of my family took a back seat to my new priority. As a first time mother, I had very little to help guide me. Not only were my parents completely disinterested in being grandparents, I was quite certain any grandmotherly advice was useless, coming from a woman who never wanted her own children. As my baby grew into toddlerhood and her independence grew, little conflicts arose. Tempted to lose my temper in the face of tantrums or naughty behaviour, I always stopped myself with one thought, “What would my parents do?” A very twisted version of What Would Jesus Do…whatever the answer, I made a deliberate choice to do the OPPOSITE. My parents would have spanked a toddler who drew on the walls, spanked a child who wanted to wear her underwear on the outside of her pants, spanked a child who talked back. My father always told us that children were cabbages until they were old enough to carry on an intelligent conversation. I chose to learn about the concept of Time Out, let my child choose her own clothing, and learned how to use my words. I am sure it was much more frustrating and time-consuming to do it the long way, versus the shortcut of beating. But I have very clear memories of the leather belt with moons and stars cut into it, that would beat my bare legs and bottom until those moons and stars were imprinted on my flesh. I will never forget the fear and dread when my father would tell me exactly how many smacks with the belt I would get; most of the time in the double digits. I would know it was coming because if I talked back or lied or did anything wrong in my mother’s eyes, she would screw her face up in rage, point her finger at me, and scream, “Just WAIT until your father gets home!” And when I was a teenager, and the only thing I did was roll my eyeballs, as teenagers do, she didn’t even wait for my father. Her teacup full of hot green tea would come flying at my head. Maybe that’s why I became a goalie in soccer in high school; I learned to not flinch in the face of flying objects, to take the impact on my body, and to keep going.

As the years passed, the negative connotations I associated with Mothers’ Day slowly faded. Gradually, Mothers’ Day ceased being about my mother, a reluctant mother. I started to see that it was a day about any human being, man or woman, who CHOSE to care for another. My own children brought me homemade cards of construction paper, glue, and glitter, on the breakfast tray in bed. I have saved every one of them. My oldest, Emily, ever since she could write, has written silly poems and hilarious rap songs. I cherish every one of them. Even when I went into labor with my youngest, Simon, little Emily made colourful little posters to tape on the hospital room wall to cheer me on, “Laber is Fun!” I still have that little poster, misspelling and all. “Laber” isn’t all that fun, after all, but this family sure is. Last year, my husband cared for me and the children while I battled breast cancer; he became the best example of a mother I have ever known. I look around my life, and there is no more room for bad feelings on Mothers’ Day.

This morning, for the first time, I woke without my husband and my oldest child on Mothers’ Day. Markus is out in Seattle, working hard to make a new home for our family to move to next month. Emily is in Phoenix with her best friend to celebrate her graduation from university. Feeling slightly sorry for myself, I opened my eyes to find my two younger children, Hanna and Simon, holding a tray of breakfast and a coffee in a Love Cup. “Happy Mothers’ Day, Mama, we love you!” A feast of eggs and kale and onions, and their happy faces beaming at me while I ohh’d and ahh’d. Simon told me, “My gift to you is that I am going to scoop poop in the yard and mow the lawn!” And they both promised to help me clean the house for company tonight. That’s a minor miracle right there. I opened my email, and there was a letter to me, from my Emily. Not her usual funny rap or poem, this is what she wrote:

“Hi Mama Bear!

This isn’t my usual rap, because I felt that I had a lot to say that wouldn’t be very easy to rhyme. It’s Mother’s Day! You’ve gone through three “labers,” none of which could have been all that fun. You’ve raised one semi-adult who has so far managed not to perish out in the real world, one sassy teenager who loves to shock us all with her rebellion and independence, but who will one day undoubtedly shock us with incredible success, and also one hilariously weird boy who has the exterior of a hardened thug, but who’s insides are filled with love and an amazing sense of kindness. On top of all of this, you work hard to maintain the most beautiful marriage that I have ever seen.

When I was first processing that you had been diagnosed with breast cancer last year, they were some of the scariest feelings I’ve ever felt. First off, what kind of universe did we live in if someone as caring, sweet, and undeserving as you could possibly be dealt an early entry into Heaven? I realized we had all taken you and everything you did for us for granted; something I still sometimes catch myself guilty of. You are the only constant I’ve had in my entire life and I’ve literally known you for forever. How am I supposed to ever be expected to navigate through this stupid world without you to call and complain to? Without you to cry and scream and vent to, without hearing your 100% honest advice on something as small as what to buy at the grocery store, all the way to making life-changing decisions that I’m too weak to deal with on my own? That’s why when you were diagnosed, I never really considered it an option that you could ever disappear from my world. Nothing was strong enough to take you away from me, because you are mine and I couldn’t let that happen.

This was a very idiotic and naive approach to your newly discovered cancer. Because I wiped away this possibility, I did not embrace the seriousness of your illness, nor how important it would be for me to move back home. Even when I finally did, I look back and see how little I contributed to the family, how much more I could have done to lessen the burden of your surgery and healing. I know I can’t make that time up to you, but I am sorry for being a noob.

I have so many amazing memories of times we have shared. Obviously we have had some really bad times, horrible screaming fights and sometimes deafening bouts of silence. You’ve said before that you have blocked out most of your negative memories from your childhood, because they were too painful to keep around. But I think that the reason I remember less of the bad and all of the good is not because the bad is so bad, but because the good is so great. You and Papa have given us such an amazing life, full of the most love and laughter out of family I could ever imagine. I love when we’re all out for dinner, and half the conversation is purely brought-up memories that make my mouth burst out with laughter, and my heart burst with all the love we all share.

You are the coolest, funniest, most welcoming and biggest hearted mom (and person) I have ever known or even heard about. Even without ever meeting you, my friends give you rave reviews. I’m so sorry it took me so long to realize that I chose the best possible person to not only raise me, but to be my very best friend. I love you the most and I hope you always know that.

Happy Mother’s day Mama!!

Love,
Emmy”

Mothers’ Day is not a happy day for many people. But I believe you do not have to settle for what Life dishes out to you. If you can survive to adulthood, you can make the changes you need to find happiness. Leave the bad behind, or if you choose to keep it in your heart, use it to make your life better. There are some shitty moms out there getting some pretty damn good love from children that deserve more. Stay strong, kiddos. There is love out there, and it doesn’t have to come from your bio mom. If you can’t find it, you make it yourself. The more love you make, the more love just bubbles up and overflows.

This is it. I am here. I made it. I am the mother I always wanted, with the children I always wanted, in the family I always wanted. Dreams do come true. Happy Mothers’ Day to those who can, and I wish a Future Happy Mothers’ Day to those who will make it so down the line.

Walking and Loving Each Other Toward a Cure

09 May 2015 Leave a comment

by Suelinhess in Breast Cancer, Cancer, confidence, Faith, Family, Friendship, Healing, Love Tags: , , , , , ,

I wrote this 7 years before my own diagnosis, while we lived in Hawaii.  It still feels good to remember.  And it feels good to have such loving friends who mustered up a team to walk together in Calgary, in my name, last year.  Whether we find a cure or not, this togetherness and love is always a good thing:

Saturday, March 17, 2007, I forgot many things. I forgot my nephew’s birthday, I forgot it was St. Patrick’s Day, I forgot it was my husband’s only day off, I forgot myself. The only thing I could remember was that I was going to try something very important that day – I was going to try to stay up from 6pm until 6am on Sunday, and to walk in memory of Mom, to walk in support of Aunt Barbie, Doreen, Debbie, Jon, and all the other cancer survivors being helped by the American Cancer Society.

My friend, Doreen, just finished her chemotherapy for breast cancer. She is blessed in many ways: that she has a huge family on this island, that they surround her with love, that she received support and education from the American Cancer Society during her diagnosis and subsequent treatment, and that she is STRONGER than her cancer. Her family decided to form a team for the American Cancer Society’s Relay For Life. They used Doreen’s middle name for the team: KA’ILILAUOKEKOA’OKALANI. In Hawaiian, this name means “The Heavenly and Precious One.” If you ever had a chance to meet this warm, loving woman, you would understand how fitting that name is. She has over a hundred relatives on this island, hundreds of friends, has a demanding job as the Director of Human Resources at the Fairmont Orchid Resort, and a husband and three children, yet anytime you have a chance to speak with her, she seems to slow down the spin of the planet so she can spend time with you and give you her total attention.

Cancer really threw things off balance for Doreen – all of a sudden she had something in her life that she couldn’t approach in her usual way. Her usual way is to handle things almost single-handedly, to open another section of her heart and make room for one more thing, for one more cause. This time, she realized that it would take all her strength to fight the cancer. All of us around her, accustomed to leaning on her, had to adjust and ask her to lean on us. Her incredible husband and children, after years of Doreen taking care of them, stepped right into their new shoes with such grace and strength – more blessings for Doreen. And Doreen’s extended family – wow. I feel so awkward and happy at the same time when I am with them because I am not blood-related, and come from a smaller family, yet I always yearned for such a bustling, crazy, laughing family such as hers. It reminds me of childhood visits to Taiwan – aunties and uncles, cousins, sisters, brothers, everyone talking and laughing at the same time, playful teasing, drinking, eating, the closest arms grabbing and comforting any crying babies… To be included on her team was such an honor!

On Saturday night, as we all gathered in Kamehameha Park for the 10th Annual Relay for Life in Kohala, I looked around a sea of light blue Team Ka’ililauokekoa’okalani t-shirts, and realized that Doreen had the largest team! With her family, her husband’s (Malone) family, her best friend’s family, and mine, our team came to about 75 people. Doreen’s shirt was purple – all the survivors wore purple shirts. She topped off her outfit with a black-and-white polka-dotted bandana and a great big smile. As part of the opening ceremony, the survivors took the first lap – it was heartwarming to see them smiling and walking with their arms around each other. The “track” was set in a large green field, surrounded by huge, feathery trees that swayed in the gentle wind. Little white paper bags marked the boundaries of the track, with a set of bags spelling out the word “HOPE” in the middle of the field. These were luminarias that people could buy in memory or in support of loved ones. Markus, Emmy, Hanna, Simon, and I bought a candle each for Mom, Aunt Barby, Doreen, Debbie, and Jon. With Doreen’s family candles, we ended up taking up a large part of the circle. Our team was so big we were given two batons to walk with (we were called K Ohana Team I and K Ohana Team II). While those who held the batons walked, the others strolled around the track, visited with family under the series of tents erected for our team, ate our potluck dinner, danced to the live band, browsed the booths, and set up camp. The children ran around like crazy people and played on the playground. Markus and I held hands and talked while we walked around the track in the beginning – that was our date night Later in the evening, the stadium lights were dimmed and the Luminaria Ceremony began. The candles we had purchased to honor our loved ones, were blessed and lit and we carried them to the little white bags we had marked with our loved ones’ names. Call me crazy, but Mom was there. I carried her spirit to that little white bag, and her candle stayed lit until I blew it out in the morning. And it rained – it poured. Only Mom’s and Jon’s candles stayed lit. One of the Uncles and I re-lit our candles whenever they blew out, but we never had to worry about “Nai-Nai” and Uncle Jon. After Markus and the kids went to sleep, and I began to walk in earnest, with the baton in my hand, those little lit baggies kept me going. I would circle the track, reading the messages that different people wrote on their bags.

Through the rain, we kept walking. I purposely didn’t wear a watch – only wore Mom’s wedding ring. I didn’t want to keep track of the time in minutes, I wanted to keep track with memories. So I don’t remember what time it was that I walked my first set of 25 laps, and I don’t remember how long it took me – I was only able to mark the laps with the little rubber bands that the nice old man getting wet in the rain gave me. Every time I passed him, I would hold out my baton, he would snap on the rubber band, I would smile and say “thank-you” and be on my way. And I don’t know what time it was when I was waiting for a team member to finish her walk so I could walk again, and it was raining, and I sat next to Doreen under a watertight tent. She was all snuggled up in a warm blanket, on a sea of pillows on top of a cot. We watched her elderly parents walking side by side, slowly around the track, never faltering, walking for the love of Doreen. With tired eyes, she smiled and told me lovely things about her family, and about her husband and daughters, while her mischievous son snuck his way onto the cot, like a dog at the end of the bed. She told me about her treatment, her upcoming operation to remove her uterus, and how her hot flashes come at such un-opportune times like in meetings with the hotel General Manager…and how she would have the urge to rip off her hat or scarf, but didn’t want to shock the poor man with her bald head. And as we speak, she has another hot flash, and looks so uncomfortable there with her wooly hat on. I told her to take it off and cool down, that I think she is beautiful without hair. So she shyly takes off her hat, and she is just that – beautiful. I don’t know what time it was, but she was eventually tucked in by one of her sisters, and went to sleep. I nervously made my way to the outer tent, where her husband and the other hardier folks were staying awake. They are joking and laughing, speaking so quickly in the local style, so I can only understand half of what is being said. They are very kind, though, and offered me a Nos – an energy drink. Woo! That is when I ran off to do my next set of 25 laps.

It rained on and off throughout the night. We were constantly either taking off or putting on our little ponchos. I finally got kind of sick of that, so I just walked through the occasional showers – it was refreshing. Somewhere along the way, I was in the middle of my 3rd set of 25 laps, when I found myself really slowing down- my hips started creaking…. Sleep deprivation…Malone was a few yards ahead of me…I had been passing people with my speed walking all night long, so I thought I could pass him with no problem. Ha. I never caught up with him Then, Doreen woke up – someone told me it was about 5am, and that the closing ceremony should be beginning, with awards, and the final lap. Doreen took the baton and walked a long time with her sister-in-law. Slowly, but surely, she and her fuzzy white hat made their way around that track – I lost count how many times she went around – it looked like she was having a nice long talk with Malone’s sister.

Finally, we were all called to the main tent, and awards were handed out – so many I can’t remember. Best costume, most money raised, team that walked the most, individuals who walked the most…I actually won something! I walked 60 laps, the most on K Ohana Team II. Woohoo! One lady raised about $14,000! Including donations I expect in the mail, I raised about $400. Humble beginnings. I hope to double that next year.

Finally, we all stumbled out of the main tent, to do our final lap, and found ourselves greeting the sunrise. By then, things felt very strange and fuzzy…I don’t know if it was the good feeling in my heart, or the lack of sleep, but I left with the determination to do this every year. When my mom got sick years ago, I was a selfish teenager. When she got sick again, I was a selfish adult. I did next-to-nothing for her. All my good intentions amounted to little more than a few trips to chemotherapy with her, a few visits to her house, and in the end, long letters sent from my home in Hawaii. When my friend Debbie got sick, I prayed for her, but she lived down the street from me, and I still did nothing to help. When my friend Jon got sick, I prayed for him, I took care of his children or his dog while my friend Georgie, his wife, flew to Honolulu to be with him for his treatment, but that only happened a couple of times, and they live right next door. When Doreen got sick, I vowed to do more, to make a difference in her life, to be there to help her to the doctor, or cook for her, or whatever she needed. I only ended up taking her to the doctor once, I never cooked, and I never cleaned. I asked myself, when am I ever going to grow up and do what I say? When am I ever going to do more than talk or write? On Saturday, for the first time in my life, I feel like I made a real difference in the world. It looks so stupid in writing when it is on this piece of paper, but even though that $400 was just a drop in the bucket when you look at the $25,000 price tag for one chemotherapy treatment, my presence did something. All of us gathered on that grass on Saturday night, we put something out there in the world – a pulse of love so great – it was felt by others. I saw it in Doreen’s eyes as she slowly looked around her and saw the warm hearts all gathered in one place for the love of her. I saw it through the filter of my own tears as we lit our Luminaria and thought about our mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, aunts, uncles, friends – it was on each of our faces as we quietly walked around and around.

It has been days since we walked together. When I came home, I slept for a whole day, not speaking except to help the kids with the essentials. I found myself not able to express myself – it was as if those 12 hours had taken more than my physical strength. I could only remember the night inside of my head, couldn’t talk about it, almost as if the memories were too precious to let them escape from my lips. This morning, I realized that if I didn’t take the time to write this, to share this, I would be doing what I have done all my life – I would have all the good intentions of helping without actually putting those thoughts into action. I can’t do that anymore. I need to share this experience with everyone, because it is important. I know it is annoying for people to ask for money to help causes. I felt the same way. I don’t expect my efforts to cure cancer. But the American Cancer Society does more than fund cancer research. They help the victims with the cost of medicines, with the cost of transportation; with loving counseling for the victims and their families…these are things that anyone might need someday. Nobody is expecting a huge donation. We are all regular people with other needs in our lives. But a good friend with a newborn baby managed to send $20. Just the action of finding an envelope and stamp and putting that together is huge, considering our E-society. And Simon, my little boy, age 6, earned $3 helping me with laundry, and put it into my donation box, instead of his piggy bank. Markus’ family in Germany sent actual Euros in an envelope – the bills just fluttered out when I opened the letter. My big sister couldn’t wire money from Australia, so she sent it via PayPal. So resourceful, these people with loving hearts and active intentions. And my next-door-neighbor? The friend who I didn’t have the wherewithal to help? His family walked over a check for $100. My best friend, over the ocean, whose own Mom died of cancer, sent me a donation in honor of both of our moms.

As for me, I am sure I will continue to be lazy when it comes to putting my good intentions into action. I am sure I will make everyday commitments and fail in some way. I am sure I will continue to procrastinate when it comes to doing what I must. But in one way I have been changed forever. The love that was shared on Saturday night, by Doreen and her family, by the cancer survivors, and by their supporters, that is permanently in my heart. That love makes me stronger – it strengthens my resolve. I am going to continue to help. Even if I don’t have a lot of money to donate, I will donate my time. I will walk again. Next year, I hope the team is even bigger. And if any of you are able to make it, I hope you will walk with me. Do it for someone you love, do it for someone you don’t even know. Just don’t forget to do something, no matter how small.

How Blessed to Have an Uneventful Day Together

01 May 2015 3 Comments

by Suelinhess in adventures, Breast Cancer, Cancer, Family, illness, Love, Marriage, relationships Tags: , , , ,

Don’t give me fancy flowers. If I never have another rose, I won’t be sad. Don’t give me chocolates or romantic dinners in gourmet restaurants. For the rest of my life, if I never eat another chocolate or attend a gala dinner, I could still be happy. All I want is his warm hand holding mine as we walk down our path together. All I want is for him to take my face into his hands and pour all his love from his eyes into mine. I like to think that he was molded up in Heaven while I was a lonely little girl, staring up at the stars at night, wishing to find a family that would love me the way I love them. But he was already running around in his lederhosen by then, growing up all the way across the world, in the mountains.

I used to take our time for granted. Weekends sometimes felt a little boring, sleeping in, reading quietly, making dinner together, working in the garden. I used to think maybe my life was too quiet, too uneventful. Then we got a little shake up with that cancer thing last year, and we found ourselves wishing for boring, wishing for a worry-free life. Last year’s wedding anniversary was a “I’m alive! We made it! Yay!” anniversary, where we just clung to each other, grateful for the chance. Today, we have had a whole year of enjoying every day, a whole year of savouring just sitting on the back porch together, in the sunshine, listening to the quiet breezes drift through the forest. We learned how to fish, we went camping, we took long wandering walks in the woods. This has been a year of deep content. I am truly thankful.

But I want more. With your favourite food, you crave it until you overindulge and then can’t even stand the smell of it. With your favourite music, you play it until you get sick of it. Everything in my life to this moment has been that way. Except this love. This love has made us work hard for 19 years, but the joy and passion we create is ambrosia. Through tears, through frustrations, through misunderstandings, we learned how to be good people, to be kind to each other. And as each year passed, our roots went deeper, intertwining. Our union has produced 3 of the most beautiful precious beings we could ever give to the world. And our struggles, from petty things like snoring, to having serious talks about how one parent might have to go on without the other…raising children alone…those struggles have shown our children that love is everything. Love isn’t just flowers or romantic dinners once a year. Love is every day. Love is putting in earplugs if the snoring is too bad. Love is taking out the garbage. Love is taking turns being the soft parent when the other has to be the hard parent. Love is admitting when we are wrong and apologizing. Love is in the cold washcloth gently wiping away the sweat and tears of pain. Love is never forgetting to tell each other how we are treasured…every day.

So I have it, this love. I am fully aware of how rare it is, how most people may never find just the right person, or just the right way to dance with that person. I know we earned this happiness; it didn’t just fall into our laps. We earn it every day. And just like from a well-tended garden, our love is wonderful produce. There is no more taking for granted. Each minute slows so we can savour it. I take photographs so I can look back and remember that sunny day better, the smiles in the photo bringing me to to that very moment. Having this love comes with insecurity, worry over the future. I see the silver coming into his hair, I hold my breath before my 6month wellness checkups; I have daily reminders that it won’t last forever. Then, my blood tests come back clean and we celebrate. Or he earns a promotion and we celebrate. Or it’s just Friday and we celebrate.

Today is a special day. 19 years ago, on a pristine beach in Carmel, flanked by baby Emily on one side, and the most handsome groom I could ever imagine on my other side, I didn’t think I could ever have a happier moment for the rest of my life. Never have I ever been so glad to be wrong. Time has softened us, has greyed and wrinkled us. But that man I married has transformed into a man that glows from within. He is so beautiful my heart hurts. Sometimes I feel his eyes on me, and I look up to find the love shining from him, so palpable I feel I could reach out and hold it in my hands.

On Sunday, Markus flies away to Seattle to begin his new job. The kids and I are staying behind while they finish school. I struggle with the pride I feel for the rewards he has earned from his hard work, while I am already missing him so much my heart hurts. We are each other’s touchstone. When the outside world is too harsh, we turn to each other and there is comfort. When there are times to celebrate, we turn to each other for the big hugs and the jumping up and down. No matter what the situation, we turn to each other. For 22 days, we are going to have to settle for some virtual hugs and love through Facetime and emails. Between now and Sunday, I will be giving him kisses for him to keep in storage. Today won’t have fireworks or chocolates or flowers, it will be even better than that. Today will be pure love; just cherishing the quiet reading, holding hands, walking the dog, and whatever else a perfectly uneventful day will bring. Happy Anniversary to my Love. May we always be hungry for more.10849840_10152580707443131_566979218348613696_n