Spring!

SPRING!!!!!

That is the short version of why I have had no words recently. 

As I dance around my kitchen each morning, in a style that can only be described as Spastic Muppet, my husband sighs. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING???” 

He is not prone to fits of early morning exuberance.

“I AM DANCING BECAUSE SPRING!!!” 

Apparently daylight is my favorite. The slowly increasing warmth of days is my favorite. The magic of every morning when I walk the dog, seeing new buds, new tiny bits of green, new blooms on old ShopRite bulbs I planted after they wilted post-Easters long ago…all of these are my favorite.

Blue sky when I was doing 

yoga on my deck a few days ago. 

ALSO MY FAVORITE.

The trees I can see outside my home office window are still brown and twiggy, but the edge of my weeping willow just peeks past the window frame, and just this morning I think the number of buds on that tree have doubled, lime green dots of happiness.

By contrast, I see how extremely I am affected by the change of seasons…the challenges of late fall/early winter’s darkness are so quickly forgotten when I get more hours of daylight.  Not forgotten—but gosh I appreciate EVERY SECOND of spring.

Woo!

Even my house plants look so happy. 

Well, the succulent looks all spindly and straining to the window. I have to Google how to re-pot it. Even a little poinsettia I got for Christmas is still blooming!  Next to my spindly succulent is a little plant in a box, I think it’s some kind of kalanchoe? 

Last spring, as I prepared to leave the only job I ever really had, my principal, a mighty, compassionate, wise woman, gave me this little flower as a parting gift, with her thanks.  

This flower means a lot to me. No other administrative person, most of whom I have known for 20-30 years, most of whom have had many children in my classes—not one ever acknowledged that I left. Not one acknowledged I ever had even been there. Complete radio silence. 

This is ok. It is, in many ways, a confirmation of things long known. 

By contrast, that little flower means a LOT to me.

It sits on my kitchen windowsill, slightly tilted over the months of winter to drink in every speck of the western exposure’s light. The leaves are dark green and round, the stems strong…

And I realized the other day, as I came home from substitute teaching, tired but happy, that my plant has been growing like CRAZY. It is starting to get new blooms even, tiny white flowers that lean toward the sun.  It looks…happy, too. 

Look at all the Happiness! Tiny flowers on right...

Whoa. That’s kind of a metaphor, no? 

Growing, blooming, gaining strength—that parting gift from my principal is so much more than a flower, so much more than a sign of her gratitude for the time we got to work together. In a lot of ways, that little plant reflects so much of the last few months since I took my leap of faith—literally faith, I prayed so much to discern the right path. I wasn’t sure I could keep that plant alive all winter, but there are new leaves now, new blooms, new growth.  In the first few months after leaving my job, I wasn’t sure I could make it work. I knew I’d survive, let’s not be melodramatic (she says for the first time ever). But I guess I did not realize I could grow, too. I wanted to think I could, but my deep-seated defensive pessimism lurks always beneath the surface of my aspirational optimism.

But—I am so much happier now. Even in the dark of winter—so much happier. And so grateful for everyone who supported me in my leap (especially my husband, my children, my extended family).

Spring this year reminds me that there is ALWAYS possibility for growth. There is ALWAYS at least a window to lean towards when a door needs to be closed. 

A year ago at this time, Movin’ Right Along was a mantra I repeated to give myself oomph to do the hard thing I needed to do.  THIS spring, I am so grateful to be Movin’ Right Along in a different way, more of a hey, not sure where I’m exactly headed yet, but the uncertainty can also be exhilarating too, getting there IS half the fun, and hey, FORSYTHIA ARE BLOOMING ALL OF A SUDDEN!  

A little bit of space can provide a lot of perspective.

I can’t say things are perfect. Subbing has its own challenges—but they are the right challenges for right now, and that brings me a measure of peace, understanding that. I may not be able to create zen (still a bit irked about THAT reality), but acceptance and understanding of life are kind of what zen is all about.

If you feel stuck—if you are in the middle of a super dark place (and reading this and thinking SPRING YOUR FAT FANNY, KRISTIN!—I respect and resemble that) – hold on.  Just holding on is huge.  I have been there—in those moments where my life feels like an endless cycle of hospital time, anxiety, mom responsibilities, anxiety, work, anxiety, teenager troubles, anxiety, laundry, anxiety, oncology mom responsibilities, (anxiety)…the frustration of those seasons is so real.  So many years of winter… but Spring will come. I hold on to that hope for you. Spring can’t make the bad stuff go away, but its light and warmth can give us the strength to keep going.

I hope for everyone a moment of seeing where YOU HAVE COME A LONG WAY! Learning, growing, doing the things—every day! You are doing it!  Do you know how hard I am resisting the urge to quote a Barney the Dinosaur song??? GAH…

Instead—be proud of your own Spring, friends. YOUR growing. You are awesome. :)

Making Sense of May

So May. Here we are again. 

I am tempted, some days, to say “May” like Jerry Seinfeld used to say “Newman”, this month of double awareness.   I don’t know why some days the weight of this gets to me, that NOW WE NEED TO BE AWARE OF NF AND BRAIN TUMORS. I can’t remember the last day I was NOT aware, so, what’s with May?

Especially since so many of my friends are in both of these communities, social networking is overflowing with awareness facts, pictures, graphics, etc.  I find that inspiring, motivational, depressing, and overwhelming all at the same time.

See why it is hard for me to even pick out a paint color? I am perpetually conflicted. 

 Reading through my blog from last year, where I describe our family’s journey…ugh. I know that was an important thing to do, but it is way past “merely a flesh wound!” , if you know what I mean.   If you want to know what life is like with NF and brain tumors (and why I am scary), that’s a pretty good place to start.

But I had a thought today while running, once I got to a quiet side street where I was not just thinking “yikes, another landscape truck? Dodge! Dodge!” (meaning my action, not the truck brand).  Today is gorgeous. Spectacular. Right now it’s about 63 degrees and brilliantly sunny, the forsythia are blooming and the flowering trees are flowering, I could hear birds chirping and squirrels scratching at trees (I double checked, I had a moment of worrying that it might be a larger woodland creature, but no, just a squirrel). It was GORGEOUS.  I don’t like running, and today I really felt tired, but the beauty of the day just hugged me.

Two days ago it was 43 degrees and raining here, like Noah digging out plans for an ark kind of rain.   Roads are still closed by us due to flooding (I toyed with the idea of adding a mile to the run to go SEE the flooding, but then my body told my brain to shut up and head back home).   This winter was epic, even by the standards of the northeast, we had so much snow, my early perennials were very late this year because the gardens were buried under 2 feet of snow until March.

Youngest child & dog, walking ON TOP of 15 inches of snow. Cold. Cold cold cold.

The dark, the cold, the endless precipitation—it was a tough winter.

my viburnum after storm #493

I don’t know what May is like in other parts of the country.   But here—well, in another week or two we’ll be past the danger of frost and I can plant annuals in my flower pots.  Our yard finally needs to be mowed for the first time this year. Everything that was brown and frozen and ugh is now alive and lush and beautiful…

Not fully grown, my evening primrose are still only an inch off the ground, the butterfly bush is just getting its first green buds, the hydrangea and viburnum are just showing where their leaves will burst forth in a few weeks. By the end of May, this potential green will be realized. 

my viburnum today, buds galore!

In Jersey—and much of the northeast, I figure-- May is a month of rebirth, of everything finally emerging from winter and bringing relief and hope that summer really is around the corner.  Winter (especially this year) is so long and so hard, it makes us appreciate so much more when spring finally comes.  The air just smells good today.  The birds sound so happy (the winter was so quiet).  I am so happy that May is finally here!

I had this thought, while running, a thought that having both Brain Tumor and NF awareness in the same month is really so meaningful…because May is so much a month of hope. We’ve had terrible losses in May, terrible grief over friends we love, lost to these two awful things…but there is still hope in the midst of that…hope that our love and memory for these children and adults can fuel our work for a cure.

Brain tumors and NF are both scary frozen wastelands a lot of the time. Nothing about either is nice…BUT within the communities that have grown around these dastardly beasts there is hope and love and a sense that we are moving towards summer.  Right now we may only see potential for a cure, for treatments that work without destroying a child’s future, for understanding the cellular mysteries NF and brain tumors hold…

But just like my viburnum and my hydrangea, that potential WILL come to fruition. I really think it will—and the hope and new life and green and sunshine of May are a WAY better time to think about these awful things, to see them in the sunlight of hope. 

By August the sedum this owl is guarding will be taller than the owl.

Ok, that sounds maudlin, but I really don’t mean it that way.  If both months were in February I would have to hide under my bed.  Having May be the awareness month for both of these things that have truly changed everything about our family is in some ways a blessing.  The beauty of this month can be a hopeful lens through which to present and understand the realities of brain tumors and NF.

We appreciate the green and warm and sun so much more after the awfulness of the winter we had.  And after the awfulness of rather a lot of the last almost 10 years, I appreciate the hope that is fostered in this month of May.

Next Tuesday is MRI day. We may be basking in sunshine or once again hoping for that potential yay to find us again…I don’t know. But I am trying, fighting against my wintry self to see the hope in each day of May, instead of the painful reminders of what’s past…to see the hope.  

Live. Hope. Find a Cure.