Holding on to Hope

A few months ago, I received a catalog in the mail from a popular clothing company.  Splashed among the first few pages, I found an array of photos showing off their new line of pretty summer dresses. And I suddenly realized that it's been 12 years since I wore a dress.  Such a simple thing, and yet, as silly as it may sound, the thought nearly brought a tear to my eye.  

While I do miss wearing something so bright and feminine, it was what the dresses represented that evoked in me such longing:  the promise of warmer weather ahead, of being outdoors, experiencing adventure, attending social gatherings, taking leisurely strolls and feeling soft breezes or hot sun on your skin. I want to be out in the world, free of all barriers, living life. 

As I continued to flip through the catalog, I saw photos of women modeling various styles of bathing suits as they walked along the shore or lounged in a beach chair to soak up the sun.  And I thought about how it’s been 15 years since I’ve seen the sea.  It’s been 15 years since I smelled salty ocean air or felt hot, sunburned sand on my feet.  To me, there are few things more stunning to behold than a sea-side sunset, nor more soothing to the mind than the sound of ocean waves as they reach for the shore.  

But it was what I saw next that produced in me the most longing.   Further into the catalog, there was a photo of a couple holding the hand of a child in an obvious attempt to portray a family.  And it is that -- a family of my own-- for which I've yearned most in life.  It is a desire so profound that it feels as though it is an integral part of who I am.

And yet, I am reminded that I just recently turned 40.  I turned 40 before I ever had the chance to be 30.  I was young when I got sick.  I am now middle-aged.

As this milestone birthday has come and gone, I realize I may soon need to begin slowly letting go of some of my dreams.  Because no matter how desperately I want it, I am now at an age where I am getting too old to still be considering a future that includes children of my own.

The problem is that I'm not ready to let go. Not yet.  I still want that family.  I still want that leisurely stroll along the beach in my pretty new summer dress.

 For now, I wait. I continue my search for answers. I persevere. And I hold on to hope.

Photo courtesy of gettyimages.com

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Finding Grace When "Life is Hard"

When I was a little girl, I remember often being told by a variety of adults that "life is hard." This was most typically said when I complained about something I saw as terribly unreasonable or unfair, such as not being able to eat dessert without first finishing all the broccoli on my plate. While this certainly did seem like a rather cruel injustice, I always found this particular response to my protests a bit puzzling. Was life really all that hard? It certainly didn't seem that way to me. Granted, I may have only had four or five years of experience at the time, but for the most part, life actually seemed pretty spectacular. The repeated sagas over broccoli and other such matters were indeed quite frustrating, but overall, I absolutely loved being a kid. Life was new and exciting and full of wonder.

Yet, adults seemed to repeat this phrase rather consistently, as though it were some long-accepted truth that children just needed to learn as they grew older. And while I did come to understand it in terms of dealing with disappointments, struggle, death and loss, I still didn't quite get why even the smaller issues of life so often garnered this response. Why did adults seem to find life so troubling? Like most kids, becoming an adult was something I looked forward to with great eagerness. After all, it was they who got to make all the decisions and have the final say on every single topic of importance. What's not to like? :)

I understand it now, of course. Children can't possibly grasp the wide range and weight of responsibilities that accompany adulthood. Grown-ups yearn to be kids again, and kids yearn to be all grown up.

Still, I remember thinking that adults didn't often seem to fully appreciate their much-coveted privileges. They even actually sometimes complained about them. They didn't appear to have quite the same energy and awe for life that children did. They had too many bills and too many things on their mind.  There was never any time to stop and focus on the little things.

Struck by this realization one day as a young girl, I vowed to be different. I vowed to be fully grateful for all the special perks of adulthood when I grew older. I would continue to look at life as being grand, not hard. I would make it a point to try not to complain about small, mundane inconveniences.

I confess I am not sure just how well I have done with this little goal of mine over the years. If I am honest with myself, I've probably been far less successful than I'd like to admit. For the most part, though, even when I lost sight of the good in any given circumstance, I was generally always able to return to a place of gratitude.

And then... I got sick. Really sick. My life was turned upside down until it essentially came to a standstill. Everything I had just begun to build for myself was slowly slipping away. From my social life, to my hopes of finishing graduate school, to the career I'd enjoyed and had just started to begin. The more I tried to push past it, the more I lost. As the years went on, simple, everyday privileges that I had not even recognized as privileges (the ability to shower, walk, talk, read, watch TV, get out of bed) suddenly started to disappear.

I actually remember once wondering if God had heard that little, silent declaration of mine all those many years ago and decided to respond with this, the ultimate in a series of complaint-inducing circumstances, as some sort of resounding challenge.

No doubt it has been incredibly trying at times, given the downward turns my life ultimately took, to keep that long-ago vow of mine. It was particularly difficult for me when I first became ill. I saw my life slipping between my fingers at what felt like whirlwind speed, and I couldn’t help but be overwhelmed by it all, especially given how little others (or even I) understood what was happening to me.

Clearly, the challenges of this illness are beyond enormous. It has literally and ruthlessly invaded every aspect of my life. There are times, particularly during setbacks (which, given the nature of this illness, are quite frequent), when I want to throw all positivity right out the window. There is so much loss, grief and frustration to grapple with, not to mention the all-encompassing physical distress that can coincide with such a setback. It can be an arduous task to focus on gratitude when you feel so sick you can barely move.

I often dump my frustrations on my fiance during those times, because I know he understands them. Then I feel regret for doing what I had always vowed to avoid -- allowing myself to whine. My fiance assures me I am not whining, but merely coping, and finding my way through what would otherwise be an intolerable situation. I'm not always so sure, though I do recognize the need to share such emotions from time to time and not keep them all bottled up.

Those of us stricken with this disease face every day the kind of loss, disappointments, deterioration, limitations, struggle and physical distress that most people don't experience until they are near the end of their life. Consequently, it is beyond reasonable, even perhaps essential to coping, to often feel complete and utter exasperation, as well as to at times experience deep sadness over what is lost and what we are missing out on, or on all that could have been. This, after all, is not the life any of us, even in our worst nightmares, ever anticipated for ourselves.

It is, however, still a life. Undoubtedly, this is not the road I chose or would have ever wanted for myself, and there is nothing in this world I wouldn't do to change it.  My dreams, my ambitions, my education, my career and all my former hopes have, thus far, gone by the wayside. That is, without question, a tragedy.  But my life, with all its struggles, loss, pain, limits and difficulties, is still a life. It still has value. It still has joy and love and dreams and meaning and hope.

Today, as I write this, I am so grateful for the grace of my young self who, in her innocent, little girl wisdom, somehow knew that I would later need the constant reminder. I would need the reminder to try to stay focused on the positive even in the midst of struggle, to acknowledge my blessings despite despair, and to take stock of the beauty that surrounds me and that always, under any circumstance, remains visible -- even if from afar. Life is simply too sweet to spend it being bitter.

This has been an extremely rough journey for me. It has tried my patience and endurance in ways that, when healthy, I never could have imagined. And yet, through it all, I need to remember that I've still had birds, butterflies, cactus blooms and beautiful mountains outside my window. I've still had the love of my friends and family and my remarkably wonderful fiance. Despite my body's failings, it still has breath. It still holds my spirit, which, though at times shaken and tested, remains strong and able. And it is with that resilience of spirit that I will continue to hold on to the undying faith that someday, somehow, things will get better.

Even now as an adult facing such difficult obstacles, I still don't think I really agree that life is hard. It's our individual circumstances that are hard. It's not being able to live your life to the fullest that is hard. But life itself is pretty amazing.

In Fifteen Years

I can remember a day when I was 15 years old, sitting on my bedroom floor and writing in my journal. I was upset about something I can no longer recall; no doubt some kind of teenage-related angst that would seem terribly insignificant to me now.

As I scribbled out my frustrations, I remember stopping for a moment, closing my eyes and leaning back against my bed. I envisioned myself 15 years into the future. I would be 30 years old. I would be an independent woman, capable and confident and free to make my own decisions. I would have finished college and graduate school, and would be well into the start of my career. Hopefully I'd be married, perhaps even with a young child or two. My life would be filled with travel and adventure, as well as the mundane but simple things that make life so spectacular. I'd wake up excited to go to work each morning or stay home to care for my children. My husband and I would be sharing in the pride of our new life together. We'd be celebrating holidays with friends and family in our own home, making new traditions as we created what was sure to become an abundance of cherished memories.

Perhaps, in my somewhat young naivety, this vision of my future was a bit overly simplistic in its perfection. Certainly, my life would not be without problems. However, I still can recall the tremendous sense of peace that vision gave me. Whatever troubles I had in the present moment would then be long forgotten. Life would be sweet, and everything would turn out fine.

Unfortunately, though, that's not quite how things happened. At 30, not only was I not married with children, but I wasn't dating. I was not establishing myself in my career, but instead was forced to apply for long term disability. Far from independent, I required assistance with virtually all tasks of daily living. I had already been ill for six long years, and essentially bedridden for nearly two. I could barely speak above a whisper. The only traveling I did was making short trips to the bathroom and kitchen a few times a day, and those few steps were quite a feat for me (they are steps I can no longer take). The memories being created were not of cherished moments, but of struggle and frustration within the four walls of my small apartment as I lay in solitary confinement.

I often wonder now, what I would have thought had I known in that moment, at 15 years old, the truth of how my life would turn out. What would I think now, if I knew the truth of where my life would be 15 years from this moment?

When I think of that young, sweet, innocent 15 year old girl, full of hope and longing, with endless goals and dreams, I want to tell her I'm sorry. I want to tell her I'm sorry for what she did not know would become so many lost opportunities, so many lost dreams, and so many lost hopes. I want to tell her I'm sorry for all the pain she would soon endure, the endless days of sickness that would grow into months and years without a single moment of genuine reprieve. I'm sorry for the paucity of answers that would be offered to her, the absence of a real treatment for any of her symptoms, and the overwhelming frustrations she would face in battling such an all consuming, devastating, and invisible disease. Perhaps most of all, I want to tell her that I'm sorry I couldn't do anything to protect her.

Of course, I want to tell her, too, that despite things not unfolding how she planned, some parts of her story did turn out okay. She still found love with an extraordinary man. She still has many things she can list as accomplishments, even if they aren't the types of things she'd have previously realized or appreciated as such. She still has countless memories and blessings to cherish, close friends and family, and many things about which she can feel very proud. Even when severely limited, life can still have its moments of joy. It can still be fulfilling.

It's now been eight years since my 30th birthday. It won't be long now before I'm 40. If you were to ask me how I envision my future 15 years from today, I would admit I'm not quite as confident in what I see. Life, I've learned, is uncertain. But somehow I still hold that same vision of myself I conjured up so many years ago, and I remain hopeful it is a vision that will someday fully become a reality. It may come much later than I had anticipated, but it may still come. That 15 year old girl still lives inside me, and she is not yet willing to let go of her dreams.

What I Miss Most

Note: This is a personal journal entry from a couple years ago. I was a bit hesitant to post it here, as it was written in what was a moment of grief for me.  I  pretty much bare my soul. But I wanted to share it with all of you anyway because it shows the degree of loss that can come with this illness, as well as all the hopes and dreams that fervently remain. As I continue to try to dig out of a lengthy crash, many of these emotions have again been stirred, and I wanted to express them.
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I want my life back. All of it. Every little morsel.

These are just some of the many, many things that I miss most.

I miss the feel of soft, freshly cut grass as you lie in a field on a warm summer's night, gazing up in wonder at all the stars shining like diamonds in the sky.

I miss salty ocean breezes caressing your bare skin as the sun warms every inch of your body, down to your core. I miss the refreshing, cool feeling of ocean water washing over you in a playful dance as it moves in rhythm to the pull of the moon. I miss looking at the vastness of the sea and sky, and sitting in wonderment at how beautiful it all is.

I miss picking up the phone to call and hear the sound of a life-long friend's voice.  I used to love that first familiar "hello," detecting a sweet mix of love and loyalty and happiness at hearing from me,  knowing we share a history together which includes our innermost secrets and flaws, and that we love each other just the same.

I miss the glorious feeling of a daily shower and the soft, massaging flow of water gliding over your skin. I miss the wonderful feeling of being clean and fresh from head to toe, of having bouncy hair every day, and smelling of scented soap.

I miss hearing my own voice and the liberty of being able to speak what is on my mind and in my heart. I miss being able to tell people in my own voice that I care about and love them. I miss the joy of lively conversation and sharing ideas out loud. I miss the exhilaration of a full, deep and jubilant belly laugh --  the kind that makes you catch your breath as tears of joy stream down your face.

I miss going for long scenic drives, with or without a planned destination. I miss the freedom, joy and sense of adventure that travel brings, the discovery of new territory or culture, and the sense of awe at seeing beautiful landscapes and scenic views. I miss meeting new people and the joy of new experiences.

I miss getting to see my fiance's sweet smile each day and the amazing sense of comfort I get in being wrapped in his arms.

I miss sleep -- beautiful, uninterrupted, deep and refreshing sleep. I miss waking up feeling rested and renewed, healthy and vital. I miss waking each morning knowing, without even having to think it, that my body is ready and capable to take on any adventure or challenge of the day with perfect ease and good health.

I miss the joy of learning to cook and the satisfaction of creating a well-prepared meal.

I miss cleaning! I actually miss dusting, vacuuming, scrubbing, doing the laundry and cleaning out clutter. I would LOVE to get down on my hands and knees and scrub a house from top to bottom until it sparkled. I love the feeling of a freshly cleaned home, especially in spring.

I miss having had the chance to create a long, successful and satisfying career doing something I love. I miss the feeling of achievement that comes with a job well done. I miss being able to put my ambition to work and experiencing the rewarding feeling of a difficult goal or task coming to fruition. I miss being able to wake up each morning happy to go to work, and coming home each night knowing I gave it my all and exceeded expectations in doing so.

I miss going to movies and the fun of getting absorbed into a great story on screen, whether it be one that makes you laugh, cry or think and reflect. I miss the smell and joy of eating popcorn at the theater or even in front of the TV.

I miss reading -- books, newspapers, magazines, and letters. I am ever grateful for audio-books, but there is nothing like reading a good book, cover to cover, on your own.

I miss exercising. I miss going to the gym, doing sit-ups, lifting weights and going for long (or even short), satisfying walks. I miss the joy of a good workout and the feeling that it helped to benefit my body instead of worsening it. I miss being toned and fit, and looking at my body in the mirror with some sense of satisfaction or pride. I miss having the chance to take the karate and dance lessons I've so wanted to take since I was a young girl. I miss a body that responds as it should to physical and cognitive exertion.

I miss the pure exuberance of good health, of being able to move and engage in life with ease and freedom, and without repercussion. I miss the feeling of wellness, of not being sick, of not being in constant physical distress. I miss being able to do whatever I please, even the simplest of things, without penalty. I miss having a body that matches the energy and vitality of my soul.

I miss having endless possibilities for each day. I want to wake up again one morning knowing that I can do ANYTHING I want that day and that the world awaits me.

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I also yearn for what I have not yet had.

I want to know what it’s like to spend endless hours in conversation with my fiance, getting to know him even more deeply every day and falling more and more in love with each other. I want to have many candlelit dinners and romantic evenings together, and go on fun adventures doing the things we love to do. I want to experience the simple and mundane tasks that couples share together every single day.

I want to know what it’s like to walk down the aisle on my wedding day, knowing the man of my dreams awaits me at the alter. I want to know what it's like to vow to love, honor and cherish him every day until death do us part and hear him make those same vows to me in return.
 
I want to know what it's like to have life growing inside of me; to feel the rhythm of a tiny but steady heartbeat in my belly that is not my own. I want to know what it is like to see life flow through me, to hear my baby's first breath and to marvel at the miracle of his/her arrival.

I want to know what it's like to hear a child's repeated cries of "Mommy! Mommy!" knowing it's you for whom s/he yearns.

I want to be able to change dirty diaper after dirty diaper, to soothe a child's tears, to be filled with awe at the miracle of their existence. I want to watch them smile and giggle and grow as they make each milestone, and boast to everyone with pride.

I want to go to my future children's dance rehearsals, soccer games, school plays and piano recitals. I want to do crafts and bake cookies with them, play sports with them, help them with their homework and school projects, and teach them about values and morals. I want to go on vacations together as a family and watch their joy as they experience new adventures for the first time. I want to be there for them in all their good times and bad; to be fully involved and deeply interested in everything they have to do and say. I want them to know without a shadow of a doubt that I love them unconditionally.

I want to be able to play and get to know my niece and nephew. I want to be able to hug and kiss and talk to them so much that they get sick of me. I want to take them on adventures they will never forget and help them make memories they will cherish for a lifetime. I want to be a good godmother to my godchildren, to be their buddy and friend and someone they admire and look up to.

I want a successful career doing what I love. I want to get my master's degree and make a difference in the world doing something that brings me joy. I want to do volunteer work, knowing I am helping those in need, and helping them make dreams come true.

I want the chance for a full, engaging, adventurous life as I express all the vitality, energy, joy and spirit of my soul.

I want the chance to fully be me.