Quilting

Courtesy of Erik McLean (Pexels)

Yesterday was my 44th birthday.

In brief, it was perfection.

I can hear Lucy in my mind as I write that. “There’s no such thing, Mom.” She’s right. It’s not the right word. Not at all. But there is a quality of satisfaction when I use that word that I want to communicate – a feeling that I could not have asked for more.

But of course, we always can. That’s the human condition – always looking for improvement.

And yet, I’m not sure how you can improve on a day like that in any “realistic” way. I’ll save you most of the details, as much of it holds intimate significance, but in a nutshell, here’s how I see it. I woke up in my OWN bed, in my OWN house, with my OWN family within its walls. Happy. From the moment I woke up, I was spoiled. In attention. In appreciation. In thoughtful gestures, generosity of time, moments out of people’s day to offer beautiful words, gifts, kindnesses. So many overwhelming offerings to be grateful.

“It’s been a tough time.” That should be mounted somewhere in my house - a general sentiment to characterize this season of our lives. It has changed me, challenged me, pushed me to the edge. It has made me come totally unglued at times, and the fabric of my reality has thinned, torn, shredded in parts.

But we are mending it back together. We are repairing and healing. We are rebuilding. And the threads that have held the material of our world together, the people in our lives and their patience and kindness and support, have allowed faith to carry us through.

I don’t know where we are or what the textile of this journey will come together as in the “end”, but wherever we are, I am just so incredibly grateful. Things were touch and go, to put it lightly. And by “things”, I mean everything. And somehow, we are here, trucking along, as they say.

Next week is Lucy’s 10th and then Violet and I will return for lucky Round 13 before school ends for the year. Despite missing the majority of classes this year, Violet continues to kick ass, participating in tests and class speeches and softball games in between chemo and chimeric, IVs and an inability to eat for days. And her hair is growing back. She’s still in the thick of treatments, sick as she ever was when she goes through it all, but her bald head is now a soft, fuzzy orb of auburn fleece, which she presents proudly to the world without fan fair or self-consciousness. And Lucy, too, continues to build her skills in Jiu Jitsu, kicking the crap out of the boys and holding her own. Warriors, both of them.

And if I’m honest, I’m proud of myself, too, but mostly, I’m proud of us. The collective “Quinns” (Manskes included). It’s tough to explain what this kind of scenario does to challenge a family over this long of a period of time. The complexity of emotions a family deals with, with two girls entering “teenage years”, and two entrepreneurial parents with viciously independent perspectives on the world, on business, on family, is enough to try to manage in its own right. But when you combine the physical, psychological, financial, emotional, logistical, spiritual weight of five years of a pediatric cancer battle, things can get…hairy.

I used to be self-conscious of a lot of things. I used to want to be “normal”, to fit in, to be compliant and “good”, to avoid alienation at all costs. It was my default setting – my strategy for navigating life in a way that made me likeable, acceptable, appropriate, successful, “good”. That meant everything. Being perfect.

“There’s no such thing, Mom. I like that we are weird. I don’t want to be like everybody else.”

Well, Lucy, if there is anything our lives have offered us, it’s unconventionality. And if there’s anything life has offered ME, it’s the understanding that being perceived as normal is not the same as being good. Being “appropriate” isn’t the same as being moral. And being like everybody else isn’t being US.

And I love us.

What a mess our lives have been, in so many ways. I think one of the reasons I fell a bit silent through this part of our journey has, in a way, been to make peace with this. To stop the explanations, the attempts at being understood by others in a context where that, really, is impossible. How could we ever expect anyone to fully relate to what we’ve been going through? To “get it”? And yet, what I “get” now is that this was never the point or even a realistic goal to have. People don’t need to get it and, to be honest, I hope they never do. But that doesn’t mean that we haven’t been so incredibly supported and loved.

I have been so fortunate to have lived a life that, up until Violet’s illness, was pretty stress-free. Blessed. I had parents that literally did everything they had the power to do to make my dreams come true. School was easy, work was fun. I travelled the world. I had amazing friends. I succeeded at the things I wanted to do and loved what I was able to do. I loved and was loved. I felt invincible, really. It was almost too easy.

Until it wasn’t.

I see the tapestry – the constantly evolving quilt of my life that comes from weaving the fabrics together of each stage of the journey – and it’s beautiful. It has crazy patterns and textures and colors, but it’s mine.

And I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Because now I know. I know what it is like to have it all. And I know what it is like to realize what it means to take that for granted. And so now, mostly, I don’t.

And really, if there’s been any time in my life that I’ve had it all, it’s right now.

I keep thinking about that speech at the end of “American Beauty”, after (spoiler alert) Kevin Spacey gets shot and is reflecting on his life:

“I guess I could be pretty pissed off about what happened to me, but it’s hard to stay mad when there’s so much beauty in the world. Sometimes I feel like I’m seeing it all at once, and it’s too much; my heart fills up like a balloon that’s about to burst. And then I remember to relax, and stop trying to hold onto it. And then it flows through me like rain, and I can’t feel anything but gratitude—for every single moment of my stupid, little life. You have no idea what I’m talking about, I’m sure; but don’t worry….you will someday.”