Recoveredbulimic’s Weblog

Once I saw you enter this world
and now I’ve watched you leave.
Powerless, helpless by your side
I am consumed by grief.

You walked with me on this path for a while
I hoped you’d be here longer,
but fate and powers beyond my control
have proven they are stronger.

At least I was able to give you more
than some receive their whole lives:
love, attention, and caring devotion
upon which your tender soul thrives.

So full of promise,
with a future so bright,
that you have to leave now
just doesn’t seem right.

I thank God that I knew to treasure you
and for all the things that we did,
for the dear memories we could collect
before farewell we had to bid.

Many days I sat next to you
as you prepared to go,
and felt that aching endless pain
only a parent can know.

You’re destined for a higher plane,
a brighter point of view.
Wherever you go, please remember me
and how much I love you.

My heart has been heavy over the past weeks. The miracle I had hoped for did not come to pass. My friend’s son is dying. It is a matter of days. Many a night I have cried, prayed and hoped. Why am I so affected? I only met his son once. Perhaps because my son is the same age and even looks similar, perhaps because I have children, perhaps because I have come to like and care about this person, perhaps because he told me so much about his son on different occasions that I feel like I know him and know what a wonderful, smart, gifted child he is. Perhaps it’s simply because I take other people’s sorrow to heart. Actually, it doesn’t really matter. The bottom line is: I think it is the hardest thing in life to lose one’s child. That is something I realized soon after I became a mother.

The other day I met with my friend and we talked. On the way home, still mourning the lack of miracle, I thought about all the things that had happened since he became sick. Many people’s lives had been touched. Work colleagues gave his mother their vacation time so she could stay home and look after him. Over the past couple of weeks, she was given paid time off. The boy’s schoolmates rallied. In the beginning, they took notes for him in class so that he wouldn’t fall behind. The boy who used to bully him became his biggest supporter. There were many gestures of friendship and caring, many small miracles which touched their lives during this process. I noticed changes in my own life. Suddenly I had more patience, and appreciated my children more than I have for a long time. I always love them, but I might have taken them for granted. This episode reminded me – and several other people – that there are no guarantees in life, and things can change dramatically from one day to the next.

I don’t think it is possible to console a parent. Losing a child is simply not part of the normal plan. We expect to lose our parents eventually, but not our children. And yet, expectations are not real. It is possible to lose anyone at any moment. Crises like these shake us up and remind us to cherish those around us. Today.

As we spoke, he said he had the feeling that his son had experienced and learned so much in this lifetime – more than some people ever learn. I suggested he was finished with this life, an advanced being, in a sense. I don’t want to suggest that he has to die in order to teach us how precious today is. I believe he had his own life and destiny, but like a pebble tossed into the pond of life, he has made waves that rippled away from him and enveloped us with new or refreshed awareness.

Luckily they had several months after the initial diagnosis, which allowed them to prepare for their separation. They were able to make the most of the time left to them, to say all that they needed and wanted to say, and they were able to say good-bye. They were able to end this chapter in the best possible way. Now a new chapter in life begins for my friend. It’s not what he has chosen, but that’s what life has dealt him. I wish for him that he continues to believe in life, to pursue his path, and know that his son will always be with him in his heart.

Yesterday seemed like a fairly normal eventful day — my son had confirmation. After months of preparation, the day had arrived. My husband was nervous that we would get there too late and not get a seat. (That’s what happened last year at my daughter’s confirmation.) He was rather irritating — scolding and complaining that we were not ready soon enough. That really put a bad taste in my mouth, and I was upset. What was supposed to be a special day, was turning out just awful. I told him that I had announced at lunch what time we would leave, and that is exactly what time the children and I were ready.

When we got to the church, hardly anyone was there yet. Before we went in, I told my husband in front of the children that I’d had enough of his grumpiness and wanted him to stop. It is a special day, and that’s how I want to remember it. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that this little speech pleased both children, my son especially. They had been ignoring him and refusing to let him take their picture. That was their way of expressing their discontent with his behavior. We went inside the church, found a nice place to sit, and that was it.

Since I’ve already shed so many tears of sentimental disbelief at my children growing up, I was dry-eyed during the entire ceremony. The feeling of pride that he had really made it was stronger. I had told both children that it was up to them if they wanted to be confirmed, as I am no church-goer, and feel more at home with Hinduism and Buddhism. Both children took on the responsibility with no complaints. There were several excursions, several trips to church, and twice they had to be there at 6 am! No complaints. So I leaned back in the pew and thought to myself: “Well done, my children!”

Since I only go to church for funerals, weddings and my children’s milestones (baptism, first communion, confirmation), there usually is a strong tendency towards tears. This time it was strange. I just felt a wonderful sense of calm and not at all sentimental.

Then what happened? Towards the end of the ceremony, the girls’ choir sang “Top of the World” — one of the hits from the Carpenters. For those who don’t know, Karen Carpenter died 25 years ago in February while recovering from her eating disorder. That song shocked me out of my coolness. A wave of gratitude washed over me, leaving a few tears welled up in my eyes, as it occurred to me that I could have died as well.

I am so grateful that I survived those days as a young woman struggling in New York City — a walking toothpick, bingeing and vomiting incessantly, sometimes even vomiting blood, depressed and alone, paranoid and afraid, having blackouts and hearing voices as I walked to work. I wanted to live, but I had lost hope and was waiting for death. Instead, I recovered. And despite all the annoyances that come with marriage and children, I am eternally grateful for this chapter of my life, for the opportunity to raise two healthy children and enjoy them. Thank you, Higher Power!