Last night, I could not sleep. I guess everyone has those nights when spinning thoughts squeeze into what should be peaceful slumber; I am no exception. But what bothers me now is that I am noticing a pattern to my nocturnal musings. It seems that every time I post a blog about Melanie’s cancer, I find the next night to be a restless one. “I could have said that differently” or “How could I have forgotten…” seem to be the recurring theme.
Take last night. After posting Tuesday’s entry about preparing for her big surgery, I startled awake in the wee hours with an image-- Melanie’s world possessions piled in the back hall waiting to be packed into her car. The week before the surgery was to take place, she was to have been on her way to work on an organic farm in Burlington, Vermont. It had taken months for her to find this direction in life—attending conferences and interviewing farmers all around MA. Exuberant in her enthusiasm, her duffle was jammed with the tools of her new trade—hats, bug spray, sunscreen, and brand new heavy- duty pants and gloves. Wall hangings and a comforter were crammed beside the sleeping bag, all cushioning the dishes and utensils. Sitting on top was a CD player. For weeks, the pile had grown in anticipation of the new life ahead.
During the days leading up to her biopsy, Melanie had been in touch regularly with the young couple that had hired her; they were willing to wait—at least for a while. But after the cancer diagnosis, it was clear that even if everything went smoothly, Melanie was not going to be up for the heavy lifting and long hours that farming required, and they had a crop to plant. So with heartfelt best wishes, they said goodbye. The duffle was relegated to the closet; none of it would be needed anytime soon. The CD player returned to the bedside table and gradually drawers were filled again—pictures returned to the walls. Returning to her room in the farthest reaches of our apartment, her new task, only to prepare for surgery.
In a few short days, her world had turned upside down and backwards. Thoughts of cancer had replaced dreams of fresh air and abundant fertile growing life, but shattered dreams had no time to be mourned. That would have to wait. It was on to the pressing matter at hand, getting rid of the cancer before it could spread.
As Melanie let go of her dreams, Chris and I shifted our vision to accommodate what was to come. There was no discussion about whether she would stay with us; it was a necessity of the heart. I don’t think any of us could imagine any other scenario. We wanted her near so that we could take care of her as she healed. And in that moment, she needed home. While Boston had never really been her home base, it would have to do for the time being; we were her home and were glad of it.
But it was not just Melanie’s dream that kept me awake last night, it was mine, too. Perhaps more than anything, I dreamed of joy and happiness, wonder and love, and a sense of purpose for my children. I certainly would have added health to the list, but until confronted with the enormity of the way sickness compromises all of the above, I never appreciated just how much health influences everything else. While Melanie had had more than her share of illness, it was never the kind that could rob her of so much.
Often you hear people say that goodness came out of an illness, and we certainly found that to be true. Our family became stronger; our gratitude for each other deepened. And yes, over the years, new dreams have been formed and even come to pass. Joy, and wonder, and love, and purpose are abundant. But in 2004, dreams were shattered—dreams that come back to haunt sleepless nights.
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