Who knew there was a National Taco Day? I’m sure Karen knew, and she probably told me, but of course I didn’t remember. When I was deciding what to make on October 4th (a daily annoyance for me) I came up with tacos. I almost changed it to something else at the last minute, but I didn’t. When I got the text message from one of Karen’s friends with a picture of his taco dinner for National Taco Day, I was so happy to be able to say that we had also eaten tacos that night! I really do believe Karen was in my head when I was contemplating making something else. I wish she was in there more often, and more recognizably! Recently when some relatives came to visit, we went for a walk in a local park, and it struck me that the last time we had been there was probably with Karen. She was always willing to go for a hike, or sit by a stream, or… She loved to be outside, walking, skiing, swimming. When she was little, we used to hike a lot on the weekends, and even had a trail we maintained in New Hampshire when we lived up that way. One of my favorite pictures of Karen is when she was asleep in the stroller we used on those trips, with her head resting on the gas can for the chain saw. The only hike I remember Karen not enjoying was one we took the summer she was first diagnosed, before the diagnosis. She was very tired, and of course we had no idea why. We haven’t been able to do as much hiking recently, since weekends are more likely to have sports now, but we are trying to get back outside more. We went to Catoctin over the weekend, and hiked to some rocks that the kids have always enjoyed climbing around on. There are crevices and caves, and Steve and the kids would always go exploring while I sat and watched the people, or read a book. After the hike and the climbing, we went to a farm with a corn maze. A couple of years ago, Karen met the Governor at a Redskins game, and when she heard he was going to be at this farm, we went. I was so impressed that he and his staff remembered her! We went back, and I didn’t even cry as we went through the maze, although I could see the pictures I took last time of Susie and Karen, looking at the map and punching the card, very clearly in my head. We are hosting Thanksgiving this year for my extended family. The location shifts among the three states where we all live, and this year it’s my turn. I actually love to host, so that’s perfect (it’s much nicer than driving to Maine in November!) Anyway, there are a lot of people who will need a place to sleep, and the kids have always had to give up their rooms to aunts, uncles, and married cousins. If you’ve read any of the previous posts here, you already know that Karen’s room is still very much “Karen” and so it’s not particularly conducive to guests, especially ones with little kids. You also might know that I can’t spend much concentrated time in there to improve that. So I started weeks ago, a little at a time (it’s not done yet!) Karen was always cold, and she had multiple blankets on her bed, along with the blanket that my grandmother made for her when she was born, that she took everywhere. It went to college, camp, the hospital… everywhere. One of the first things I did in her room was to wash all the blankets, and pack them in a bin, except for the baby blanket. I didn’t put it on the bed, but it wasn’t in the bin. Well, in one of the recent sessions, I put the baby blanket in the bin with the other blankets. At the time, it just made sense to put it away. An hour later (and again now!) I was in tears. Who would have guessed that there would be so much significance for me in a blanket? But there is. Unfortunately, I have no better ideas for what to do with it, so it’s still in the bin, and I’m still crying about it. I have a book, Healing after Loss: Daily Meditations for Working through Grief, that somebody Karen knew from the hospital gave us. I read it some days, when I need a little help. On the days when it helps a lot, I send a picture of it to Matt. It’s helped me enough that I’ve given copies of it to multiple people. Maybe one of these days there will be something to help me with my blanket issue. Overall, I like to think that I’m doing ok. (I have no idea about the rest of them!) I’m a functional human, most of the time. I seldom cry my way through the grocery store anymore. I can laugh about the payment person on the phone who jokingly said he would be asking for my firstborn child. (He was certainly apologetic when I said he couldn’t have her, because she was on the mantel! I may have psychologically scarred him.) I only cried a little bit when a conversation among people who couldn’t have known better led someone to ask if Karen could take Amanda’s beautiful (but very large) picture to her own place. But some days, it’s really hard. Not usually all day, not even for hours at a time, but enough that I notice. I guess that’s how it goes.
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AuthorI’m Karen. I was originally diagnosed with Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia (ALL) in August 2004 when I was 10 years old. When I was working on my college and scholarship application essays two years ago, I wrote about my journey. Although it was a rough few years, it became such an influential part of my life that I can’t, and wouldn’t want to, imagine my life without having had cancer. I called it the worst best thing that ever happened to me. Archives
April 2022
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