07 Oct 00 - The next visit is the one that really started things moving. Now bear in mind that I'm focusing here on how I felt during all this because that's all I can really convey with any depth. This feels a bit contrary to my original intent, which was to help others. Yet the whole experience impacted me to the point where I feel compelled to share it.
The next time I visited with the family was October 7. I'd gone surfing early that morning in Santa Cruz and was feeling really clear and without any cares or concerns. However, in the course of talking with mom Anabo I realized that this weekend was the 2 year anniversary of Paige's first surgery. The first Saturday in October 1998 is when she awoke to see what had happened to her for the first time. She didn't know going in if it was cancer or not. When she awoke I was there on the hospital room floor next to her. Dr. Margolis was there and told her it was cancer. Paige peeked under the sheet and saw the scar and other stuff and just said "holy cow".
Later, after the doctor was gone, she said "You won't want me any more. I'm broken." All I could do was cry and remind her that the ring on her finger was a promise, and that we would get married, no matter how long that took.
All this came rushing in on me that Saturday, in the span of about 2 seconds. Wham! Just got run over by the truck. I had to pause for a second before I could speak again.
Somehow I think it might have been helpful for them to see me still struggling with her loss 10 1/2 months later. They knew I was for real and would not speak of silver bullets or quick-fixes that would make this go away. They got to see me suffer. And survive. Which is exactly where they knew they'd be. Suffering like hell. But alive. It really gets that basic when you lose someone you love that much.
Ok, enough speculation about what they got out of this. I'll leave that for them to tell me. Back to the facts as I know them: the realization of the 2 year anniversary caught up to me later that night. If the sentiment Saturday morning was that of being run over by a truck, Saturday night was a Tsunami. gulp. I went into a tailspin that lasted 2 weeks. Yet this very process would also lead to my most profound moments of healing 2 weeks later. It all seems so connected and purposed when viewed as a "big picture" instead of isolated events. More on this later.
Some points of the conversation that day will stick with me for a while. Mom Anabo was saying "You want it to be over, but when you think about it you realize that means she's dead."
I know that one. You want the suffering to end, and you want to feel like you can breathe again, but that means the final chapter for her.
That moment hit me during Paige's last few months. I recall standing outside in the warm sunshine holding my arms outstretched, feeling no joy, and wondering "When will this feel good again?"
I also remember not wanting to know, because that day when standing and basking in the sun really felt good again would mean that I'd gotten over part of this. That I'd moved on. I don't wanna go there. That moment seemed a million years away. Now my perception of that moment has changed. It's still not here, but now I realize being happy no longer requires me to "let go" of the parts that really matter. More on that later too.