I can remember when you were a little baby and you had a bad cold that turned into asthma. That asthma would eventually involve breathing treatments. Those breathing treatments would require us to go back and forth to this little treatment room. I'd prop you up on my lap, we'd read many books as you breathed in that licorice smelling stuff. I'd make notes, ask questions, and wipe everything down. I would smile at everyone in the room. I'd most always make friends with the nurses taking care of you. My life goal at the ripe age of 20 was to be the best mom. To you.
When this journey was appointed to you last year, and the partial year before, I can remember the night in ER I felt like I was going to die. I wanted to puke. I had to find a seat. I was losing consciousness. An indescribable helpless feeling. I can remember asking any doctor what they thought. Almost something out of a movie, sitting in a chair watching the world around me, without a voice. No one willing to stop to listen, and yet they did. Truthfully I don't think they know what to say, and so they fill you with hope. Except for that one doctor that didn't have a soul. Just a dry demeanor. As someone told me south African doctors are just that way. I wanted to punch him. Do something. Anything. PLEASE. Right now.
Just don't let this take my son.
I will most likely never ever get through those thoughts. But I do know I am stronger. If that even makes sense. I mean, who needs to be stronger when you already are strong. But the assignment was handed to you. Which meant me. Which also meant that for the rest of my living days I will fight for you. As I will your sister. You both are part of my flesh. One can never explain the love you experience in nurturing and making a human being that you love more than yourself.
When we found out that we had a donor. I can remember it a tad bit blurry, yet so clear. I can remember so much about that day. I can remember floating around for a week trying to put together in my head who this dear young man is. Where he resides.
Not yet knowing he was in another country. And so, I started to research a tad more. Kind of stepping into the edge of quick sand. Slowly, inching myself into it. Wondering if I would sink, and at times I would, so I would step back out of the quick sand. Putting my book away. Researching later. The overwhelming information handed to me would soon be my life line.
That life line would navigate me through some pretty rough waters. I tried so hard to never sink.
Motherhood.
It's not just cards, love and Mothers Day. It's not just the title. It is an honor.
Some mothers are handed the title of warrior. Some warriors fight hard. Some can't. And some don't.
I will forever be your warrior.
I can remember driving in the carpool lane early in the morning with such rebel in my body. Kind of like fuck everything mode. Meanwhile, praying for MERCY. I can remember rolling down the 605 fwy under an exit called Beverly. Someone had put a poster up there that said "Pray for Mercy"- I'd blaze back and forth on that freeway twice a day for weeks. And months. I'd always smile at that poster. Oxymoron haha, praying while reckless. LOL- Laugh with me kids. If only you could see me those mornings. That big ol' warrior bag given to me by the kids at Christmas. Filled with all warrior tools.
I never knew I'd build a relationship with God. I still see small signs every single day. Every one. Praying to him when the world was busy. My support lines busy. My drive home. My drive to. My reckless demeanor at times. Eating the food my friend Erica would leave on my doorstep. Feeding me because she knew my path was blurry. The days were blurry, yet so clear. I wanted to help you in so so many ways. And yet, I truly believe we only have the warrior tools to help. Not to decide. And so I just pushed through. I'd sit up in the middle of the night to sort, staring at your baby pictures. Sometimes angry. Sometimes peaceful. So many times I'd think, NO he is NOT leaving here. NO.
When you become a father, with great hopes soon someday. (Don't worry, your little swimmers are safe down in LA and with the track record of your little beauty Jen, you two will make one sweet little birdie) You two will see the deep love. The protection of nagging about washing your hands extra long. To not blow snot rockets in front of girls. LOL.
I was floating through pictures the other day and I stopped at the silly one of you cross-eyed sitting in the wheel chair. I can remember the energy I was on, taking care of you. When you were so sick you wouldn't talk but you used handgesters. Those are days you hopefully don't remember. There are days that we both hope to forget. There are days where we laughed hard at our circumstances. Like the shit on the shower floor, that did not phase me one bit, but your humiliation made us both laugh. The fog in that bathroom was the gnarliest. Not the poop.
I can remember rolling by the 100th day mark without a care in the world. I had no desire to make a poster. I had no desire to post anything. I didn't know the significant of it. I truly didn't understand it. I asked all the doctors. And yet that number is so important. Today at 7:30pm those stem cells fell into your body. You were so agitated. So sick. You wanted a quiet, dim lit room. With the love of your life propped next to you. I mean, who wouldn't. I emptied the room after quickly and quietly singing happy birthday to you. Your second auntie Lyn had made a homemade batch of pasta fagioulia soup.(mangled the name-lol) I never imagined in a billion fucking years I'd be singing to you again 26 and a half years later while the blood inside of you would change.
I am so proud of you and your dimple through the hardest days. The darkest and scariest days. You never lost that smile to any of us. Almost confusing friends and family that would receive a text from you with that famous smiley face. Kris seems great! Deep inside, I'd think....hmm. I wish. He's getting there!
Months later we'd watch you board a boat, dropping lines in the great wide ocean. I'd receive messages from friends and family. "Is Kris ok out there"- Deep inside I'd think, let him be. Let him do what the ocean has called him to do. Float on it. If God forbid he's taken from us, let it be where his heart is happy.
Most certainly not tangled in iv cords.
The months and days kept rolling in. The weeks would get simpler. We'd make doctor appointments a field trip. Sometimes antsy on the way there because who loves labs. No one.
I will forever embrace the days sitting next to you. Wherever we were. Together. It wasn't like that 2 year old on my lap reading a book. It was a 26 year old with a picc line in his arm, mask over his face. Texting away to the hundreds of friends you have, taking on the assignment handed to you. Like a champ.
I can remember one afternoon you were craving mac-n-cheese. I made one from scratch and nailed it.
When I went in to feed you, you were sound asleep and then had no desire to eat it. HAHA.
I never made one that good again.
But such is life, right? No one knows what will be handed out with the perfect timing. And the perfect recipe.
That's life.
I know that this cycle of life is handed out to each one of us different. You have made me so proud. With so many things. Your kindness is infectious. Your love for animals is on point. Although I still have a hard time with the bloody fish, I figure if you're feeding others, well fish on.
I love you Kris.
365 days. Friday The 13th. New friends have been made. New lessons. New chapters. So many new pages. So many new hugs with bigger and better meaning. More love from everyone around the world.
Your lifeline Jen has been a rock to you, which is a diamond to me.
Again, when you become a parent and you see the joy in your child's eye when someone fills their heart, it fills mine over the top.
Maybe the plan in place was for all of us to roll so close. We've learned a new appreciation for soft blankets. We've learned a new respect for CBD oils and fighting a tough disease. We've learned the greatness in the taste of food. We've learned just how hard our bodies fight for us. Healthy people taking little things for granted. Salads, raw vegetables, sushi, and uncooked...anything.
We've learned how to wipe things down. We've learned that friends, neighbors, and family climb out of the rubble for you. People came into our lives that we'd never expect. Friends stood at our door step with things in their hands that gave me vitamins for my soul to get up and go again.
Our doctors and nurses have cared for you, and listened to me. Even at times I'm quite sure they'd prefer I'd sit quiet. Nurses became lifelines.
I hope this next year is stronger, better and a tad more clearer.
January 13th 2016 @ 7:30pm
Happy 1st Kris. January 13th, 2016- Our German donor would love to see this picture of you sitting here. Or today, with a fishing rod in hand. Or hugging Jen. Or your arm around your mom and dad. Or laughing hard with friends. Or throwing the ball for Ruca- Or feeding one last morsel to Zeppy even though you tell her no, you cave because of her sweet eye brows, and eyes. Or hugging Bucksie because he taught you the first lessons of taking care of a little pet.
I know you don't really love the reachy preachy....but let me just say. God has you in the palm of his hands.
Pray on your hardest days honey. Don't stop pushing. Even when you feel yucky or down. You WILL get through.
You've already proven you're one tough bird.
-Dedicated to you, my only son-
For all my days,
Your Warrior Mama
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