This week, my husband and I celebrate 11 years with our Ultimate Bengal Fan. It doesn’t seem like he’s been with us that long. I now have a much clearer understanding of the saying, “The days are long, but the years are short.” Those early days of mommyhood were so long and I spent much of my time wishing they would pass.
The seemingly endless days of early childhood were tough. Unlike the traditional route, where you have several months to prepare for your child, I had 3 weeks. While my husband and I had spent months jumping through hoops at the state and federal level in the US as well as the Russian government, it was all just paperwork. We had a crib and a few other things, but that was it. When you adopt, you don’t have a due date. It’s pretty much a hurry up and wait kind of thing, at least it was with us. One day you’re living your life and the next you’re scrambling to finish paperwork, buy airline tickets, gathering baby things and generally running like a chicken with your head cut off to take off for a foreign country where you can’t even read the alphabet.
I did learn that I love the people of my Fan’s home region in Siberia. It’s beautiful and the people are hard working and friendly. Our return to Moscow was a bit like being in New York City, only you couldn’t read the signs. It’s busy and crowded. I don’t like crowds. And it is a bit disconcerting to go to the grocery and be greeted by guards carrying weapons. Kroger doesn’t look so bad any longer. I learned that while I may not like a lot of things in the US, it’s still better than many other places and I literally knelt down and put my head to the floor after we landed in Boston (despite being tired, I drew the line at actually kissing the ground. I still had a bit of sense after being up for 26 hours straight). I was not only thankful for my home, but that there were changing tables in the bathrooms. It’s the little things, trust me.
It was that trip, and the subsequent one to Guatemala to bring home the B-man, that shaped me for my future challenges. Both my sons faced challenges stemming from being orphaned as infants, albeit different since one was in an orphanage and another in foster care. I learned I’m much more resilient than I give myself credit for. I learned to think on the fly and that life cannot be put into a nice box, allowing you to pick and choose what will happen. It just goes and you have the choice to go follow the current or try to swim upstream. There are times to be the water and times to be the spawning salmon. You just have to know which is which.
Cancer is like that. You have to know when to fight and when to let it go. I’m not talking about the “calling in the hospice” letting it go. I’m talking about taking a nap, letting the chemo do it’s thing and having a pity party kind of letting it go. It was a tough act two years ago and is still a tough act. I’m still fighting the incredibly taxing side effects of chemotherapy. I still fight neuropathy, bone pain, nausea, headaches and stomach issues. Anemia, which I had filed away as a past issue, has raised its ugly head again. The rain today is making me feel achy and just plain yucky. I am bummed because this is the first Saturday in I don’t know how long that I actually had time to attend a volunteer meeting for the Ovarian Cancer Alliance in my hometown. Instead, I’m sitting here hoping that my hands last longer than the words in my head.
I thank God every day for the gift of motherhood. He knew exactly which children we should have and when we needed them. It wasn’t on our timetable, but His. He knew that I would get cancer, but made sure my precious sons were old enough to understand and help me out, but that I would be around to make sure they would continue on their path to be well-rounded, faith grounded and loved beyond measure young men. My prayer has always been to see them start off in their chosen fields (choosing to see them graduate from high school seems cliché. I want to see them soar). He placed us in a homeschool environment so my boys would be able to be hugged, cared for and blessed by people who were friends.
Every day puts the odds into play. Every day is a gift. Good days are filed away and bad days bring home the fact that the battle continues. Cancer is a lot like a foreign country. If you stay long enough, you learn the language, adapt to the weather and find joy in the culture. If I knew then that I would face ovarian cancer, I might have paused about bringing my children home. But then I wouldn’t know what I know now.
The days are long, but the years are short. It’s what you put into them that counts.