This is so sweet it kind of makes my heart hurt a little bit. My chemo appointments have been scheduled for pretty early in the morning (8:30) and I was telling one of the nurses on Monday that it was challenging to get everything ready to go that early when I have a kid who sleeps until about 8 every morning (I know, those of you whose kids wake at 5 am like clockwork, you hate me now. I am sorry. Sort of).

Anyway.

This schedule change just came in the mail today. The handwritten note reads: “Hi Jennifer, I changed your times to 10:00 except for the Dr. appointment on 1-10-2011. Hope this helps. I remember being a mom to a little one. : )”

So. Sweet.

Those nurses at the cancer center? They are good at their jobs, not because of clinical skills (though they are amazing at that, too), but because of their skill in empathy, tenderheartedness, and love.

Ok. Hmm. I see on my laptop that this post that I wrote from my iPhone has an upside down picture. I think I need to do something different but…I don’t have time at the moment. Bear with me. Technical difficulties. Mumble mumble mumble must fix mumble mumble mumble.

CRY OUT IN YOUR WEAKNESS

A dragon was pulling a bear into its terrible mouth.

A courageous man went and rescued the bear.
There are such helpers in the world, who rush to save anyone who cries out. Like Mercy itself,
they run toward the screaming.

And they can’t be bought off.
If you were to ask one of those, “Why did you come so quickly?” he or she would say, “Because I heard your helplessness.”

Where lowland is,
that’s where water goes. All medicine wants
is pain to cure.

And don’t just ask for one mercy.
Let them flood in. Let the sky open under your feet.
Take the cotton out of your ears, the cotton of consolations, so you can hear the sphere-music.

Push the hair out of your eyes.
Blow the phlegm from your nose,
and from your brain.

Let the wind breeze through.
Leave no residue in yourself from that bilious fever.
Take the cure for impotence,
that your manhood may shoot forth,
and a hundred new beings come of your coming.

Tear the binding from around the foot
of your soul, and let it race around the track
in front of the crowd. Loosen the knot of greed
so tight on your neck. Accept your new good luck.

Give your weakness
to one who helps.

Crying out loud and weeping are great resources.
A nursing mother, all she does
is wait to hear her child.

Just a little beginning-whimper,
and she’s there.

God created the child, that is, your wanting,
so that it might cry out, so that milk might come.

Cry out! Don’t be stolid and silent
with your pain. Lament! And let the milk
of loving flow into you.

The hard rain and wind
are ways the cloud has
to take care of us.

Be patient.
Respond to every call
that excites your spirit.

Ignore those that make you fearful
and sad, that degrade you
back toward disease and death.

Translation by Coleman Barks, from The Essential Rumi, 2004, Harper One

Once upon a time (like, a long, long time ago, when he was still blonde [see? It was a long time ago!]), Adam worked at the Shellfish Company (on the wharf). He learned many life lessons, such as how to cook lobster and crab (there are other, lesser lessons that were learned here as well, such as it is really, really hard to get the stink of fish off of oneself, it is not fun to shell shrimp by the gallon, and working in a commercial kitchen is just plain gross–having to wear rainboots to work because of the level of sloshing water on the floor? Yuck).

While there, he invented a sandwich. All these years later, we call it simply “The Sandwich” and instantly know what the other one is talking about. This sandwich is (sorry, hon, I’m sharing the mystery) a fish fillet (steamed at the time, though we usually do pan seared or grilled now), served on a croissant (everything tastes better on a croissant), with avocado and tomato. That’s it. And that is delicious! He is still bitter that the restaurant never decided to put “his sandwich” on the menu.

We served these sandwiches to friends last night (made with fresh-caught halibut and croissants from Renaud’s Bakery) and I’m afraid that getting a taste for them has re-ignited his passion for “The Sandwich,” especially given that they rated it a 9.7 out of ten. I’m pretty sure they only deducted those .3 points because they didn’t want him to get too cocky. Too late for that, I’m afraid. They were delicious. And he knows it. In fact, ohmygod, I couldn’t get him to stop talking about the damn sandwiches. A case of poor self-esteem Adam most certainly does not have. Especially when it comes to his cooking (for good reason).

P.S. I just double-checked and “The Sandwich” still isn’t on the menus. Fools.

It was another mom who told me, as both of our kids had swim lessons at the same time that day.

“Did you hear what happened at school?”

“No? What?”

“Oh my. OH my. Let’s sit down.”

We sit.

She pauses. Gathers her thoughts. Takes a deep breath and turns to me. Says, very softly, “Baby Andi passed away this morning.”

“What? What? What. No. How? Why?”

“SIDS, I guess.”

Everything changed for me, in that momentary revelation. The world, already unpredictable and sometimes unfavorable to me, started looking hostile, dangerous. There is no good reason, no explanation. I reject any attempts to make sense out of it. There is no way to understand.

Precisely because it is every mother’s nightmare, I awaken every night, silent scream in my head, imagining a too-still, too-quiet body.

I held her the day before she died. Her, so wise and tiny. I saw her and admired her and cooed over her and now she is gone.

When I got diagnosed with cancer almost two years ago, as I sat in that first meeting across from two oncologists who recommended that we commence chemotherapy immediately (though of course, I was reassured, of course I could pursue egg harvesting if I felt that my hopes of future fertility were important to me, but that would delay the beginning of treatment and time was of the essence), I felt for the first time that I would not mother another sweet little baby. This is on and off sad for me. As I became able to, stronger after my rounds of chemo, I gave away everything that I could, saving only a few things as mementos. Some of those things I gave away went to Anna’s teacher Annie, more and more pregnant in my post-chemo aftermath.

And from the first moment I saw Annie’s baby Andromeda wearing Anna’s hand-me-downs, all sweet and perfect with her smile and her dimple and her elfish face I felt….hope. I felt a little less like I was going to drown and a little more like there was still beauty in the world. That I had something to look forward to. Like here was another baby, not my own, but one that I could cherish in these moments–hold every chance I had, admire from afar. The thought of her death is absolutely impossible. Yet it happened.

And there is wave after wave of grief. Not just for the death of her as a sweet, innocent, perfect baby, but also for the death of her future, the hope of her growing up and away, like all children are meant to do.

It makes me suspicious of the world. It makes me angry. It makes me sad. There is no way to understand it.

I feel guilty that my child is still alive and well.

I feel guilty that I am alive and well.

In the meantime, we bring casseroles and talk with our kids as best we can about death, we suspend the daily school schedule in favor of a cobbled together network of teachers and locations. We ask what we can do, but the answer is really, at the end of the day, nothing. Nothing at all.

We hug and hold hands and comfort but there is nothing to be done.

I love it when Adrea sends me an email out of the blue, asking me to play model for the day. She gets a hankering, now and then, to make something special happen, for no reason other than it is fun and–hey!–we get some cool, sometimes artsy, sometimes silly, sometimes beautiful pictures out of it all. But I know the real reason she calls on me is that I am super awesome to hang out with. Well, that and my killer aerials.

So….here’s the latest, for those who care. The vision? Me, floating up and down stairs in my wedding dress. Very Cinderella. Except….well….it appears that floating on stairs is easier said than done. It really was much more about tripping on my dress and giggling. So professional of me, I know.

Adrea and I have so much fun together. Just plain fun. There’s something amazing about hanging with someone with whom I can be totally, completely, 100% real with. I love that. I love these pictures. They are so me and yet…they are like a better version of me. I feel pretty! And who doesn’t like to feel pretty?

P.S. That is my for-reals wedding dress and shoes. How I wish Adrea had been into the photography thing when Adam and I got married almost 13 years ago. Of course, then she would not have been able to perform her bridesmaid duties of standing around in a matching dress and looking cute.

Amended to Add: You can read Adrea’s take on our times together, too!

Today Anna remarked, unprompted, from the backseat of the car, “I miss my Grandma and my Grandpa. I wish they were still here.” I love that she misses them, that she feels their absence keenly, because I know that that means that they hold a dear, special place in her heart (as do all of her grandparents: Grandpa and Nona and Nana and Papa, too). Carol and Steve were here this last weekend for a visit and though it was marred by illness (boo) we had a great time anyway.

We had a visit to the Sea Center, where Anna put on a puppet show and Mother and Son played side-by-side on their iPhones.

Carol and I got to take a Bikram Yoga class together (cannot believe that my first class was with her, FIFTEEN, yes, count them FIFTEEN years ago!). We ate Mexican food, then went out for ice cream (aren’t they all so cute???!!!!). Sadly, it was just a few hours later that the night of ICK happened for my beloved mother-in-law. (Bummer).

The next day, absent one Grandma who stayed in bed to recuperate from the night of puking, we visited Shepherd Farm in Carpinteria, where we went for a hayride, picked strawberries from the fields, ate wood-fired pizza, and drank delicious strawberry drinks. Such fun!

Anna was in a funk all day Sunday after we dropped Carol and Steve off at the airport. Sad, sad, sad, but how extraordinarily lucky are we to have so many adults that adore our girl (and vice versa!)?