Friday, December 20, 2013

A Momentous Occasion


As a family, we visited Primary Children's Hospital last week. Our purpose was two-fold: to drop off some pillow cases that our friend, Jenny Towery, had sewn, and to visit this little baldy. His name is Porter Wood and he is the son of one of my best friends from high school, Ashley Webster Wood. He is there as a leukemia patient...and he is a little spit fire. 

Unfortunately, Ashley had just left about 20 minutes before I got there so I didn't have a chance to give her a hug. This may have actually been a good thing because I know for a fact that I would have completely fallen apart. As it was, it took all that I had not to let the flood gates open. Just entering the sacred space of that hospital alone was enough to send me over the edge. But seeing a friend whom I haven't seen in over 10 years, with her sweet son on his 3rd round of chemo... I would have been a blubbering mess. I managed to keep it together when we gave Porter his special Utah Jazz pillow case and Cancer Fighter lucky charm , or "Juju". I forgot to leave the box it came in with the darling instructions and words of encouragement--

This juju will help you keep fighting, stay strong and never give up. When things get really rough, look at your juju and say: I CAN DO THIS!

After our visit with Porter, (luckily, Ashley's mom, JoAnn was there and I got to visit with her. It's been SO LONG. They were so good to me in my youth), we headed downstairs to the cafeteria for a bite to eat.


Friends, I want you to know something. This blurry, random photo (with Peter making his very own "pistachio" with his finger) is  documentation of a miracle. Anyone passing by would have seen chaos and mess at our table. Spilled food, Zoë climbing on the table, and 2 parents with weary eyes. But you need to know something. The last time I was in this cafeteria I could not eat. I could scarcely walk. I was dead inside. Completely numb. I was broken and aching and in horrific mental and emotional pain. I was in an intense battlefield barely surviving. 


But there I sat, juggling two beautiful, wiggly, wonderful children, eating my curry lentil soup and I was happy. I used my own two feet upon entering and leaving. (I was in a wheelchair for the first few days in the hospital with Lucy. My body was in so much shock that I did not have the strength to stand). Not only was I using my own two feet, I was CARRYING other people--my children. Never in a million years would I have guessed I would be back in that same hospital, that same cafeteria where my friends and family so desperately wanted to feed my weak body, with two healthy children and the ability to carry them on my own. It was such a beautiful moment. Every cell in my body was emanating prayers of thanks.

A woman sat down near us as we were getting ready to leave. Vic and I watched as she held her head in her hands and prayed for a long time over her food. You could tell she was pleading with her God. I don't know what she was pleading for exactly, or for whom, but I know that as I left, I prayed that she and her child would be carried as I was, and that one day she would be able to return to the same spot with her head and heart held high.

I looked at my husband, and he at me, we smiled a knowing smile at each other, our eyes wet, then we bundled up our treasures and headed out into the cold night. It was a miracle I never want to forget. Just like my Lucy.

7 comments:

  1. Molly, the tears are rolling down my cheeks and I have chills. Saying "congrats" seems like an understatement, and not entirely appropriate. But...congrats. You are amazing. God is good.

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  2. Molly, Amen such a hard thing to do,going places that bring back all of those feelings and memories. I am proud of you! loving your hair in the last couple posts it looks great:)

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  3. Yay! What a beautiful blog post full of love and hope. How sweet are you guys for visiting that little guy in the hospital. Peter will always remember the kindness you are teaching him. Cute cute pictures!

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  4. Beautiful. Wonderful words for me to read on Christmas. Thank you.

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  5. Bravo! Wounds do heal, even if it doesn't seem possible. So happy for you and this significant moment.

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