Learning to be grateful

I haven't written in a while. Exhausted and overwhelmed are the pity party emotions I've allowed to consume my past week. On May 11, 2008, Mother's Day, I awoke before my daughter and decided to spend some time reading a book she had given me for my birthday. The name of the book is "This Is Not the Life I Ordered". I know . . . an odd present for a 10-year-old to give her mother . . . but . . . this 10-year-old has lived a lot of life in those 10 years and, unfortunately or fortunately, depending on how you look at it, has seen her mother through the up's and down's. I had bought the book for a friend of mine going through a divorce and read a bit of it before putting it in the mail. My daughter remembered me commenting on it and bought the book for me. She even wrote an inscription on the inside of the book, and the date, as I always do with books given to her as a gift, and signed it "Bug", my nickname for her since she first learned to read --- the book was "A Boy, A Bear, and A Bug" . . . or was it "A Bug, A Boy, and A Bear" . . . or . . . well something like that. Anyway, she was only 3 and somehow, through her reading that book to me, her nickname became first "Buggy Bear", then "Buggy", and finally "Bug", which has stuck throughout the years.

I digress . . . .

So, I'm reading this book, and the portion happens to be on "gratitude". . . . how important it is to be grateful. How taking time out of your day to write down in a journal what it is you're grateful for is supposed to change your life. And they were words I needed to read. I've been through a period of looking at the glass "half empty". Master event planner for "The Pity Party". So, just as I was deciding I would start writing the life-changing gratitude journal, in comes Bug from her night's sleep with a beautiful homemade card and a box wrapped in shiny blue paper and a rose-colored ribbon. It had a picture of her taped on the bottom and an attachment that read:

This is a very special gift
That you can never see.
The reason it's so
special is
It's just for you from me.

Whenever you are
lonely
Or even feeling blue,
You only have to hold this gift
And know I
think of you.

You never can unwrap it.
Please leave the ribbon
tied.
Just hold the box close to your heart
It's filled with love
inside.

Yes . . . a very cool way to start Mother's Day. We decide our day. . . . First, a long bike ride, to be followed by lunch at a favorite restaurant, and, finally, a movie. We eat a quick breakfast, throw on some biking clothes, and hit the trail.

By 10:30 that morning, our Mother's Day plans were derailed . . . literally. Bug was riding in front of me on the bike path. I saw her tire veer off to the right into the grass and then, all in seemingly slow motion, I saw her try to correct and get back on the pavement . . . the tire caught at the pavement, throwing her off to the left. I couldn't get to her, damnit . . . why was everything in slow motion when I needed to reach her?? She landed on both arms, with her body propelling forward and to the left, and her head was scraping along the pavement. My first thought was "WHY COULDN'T THAT BE ME???" My second thought was . . . "the right side of her face will be destroyed from the pavement." I jumped off my bike and gently lifted her. She was screaming, but miraculously the helmet had taken all of the brunt of her fall to her face. Without it, I can't imagine. . . I don't want to imagine. Her legs were scraped and bleeding, but . . . her beautiful little arms . . . they took the hit. Both of them . . . . broken.

I managed to lift her off of the trail and onto the grass, and move both of our bikes so that no one else would be hurt. It was stunning to see the number of people who just whizzed by us without so much of an offer to call for help. Here I was at the side of the path holding a hysterically crying child . . . . and probably 10 people rode by us. Finally, an elderly gentlemen stopped and reminded me, in my distraught state, that I should call for help -- I had forgotten about my phone. But I didn't know where we were . . . we had just taken off on a path and were miles from home. Luckily, this gentlemen knew the cross streets and I was able to give the directions to the 911 dispatcher. Before I could even get off of the phone, I heard the sirens. Within seconds, literally, a fire truck, an ambulance, and 2 police cars were at the top of an embankment . . . it seemed like hordes of uniformed people were headed our way . . . I can not explain how wonderful they looked, all coming down that hill so quickly . . . just to help my Bug.

I had no i.d. on me, no insurance cards, but luckily my BlackBerry held all my pertinent information. After a traumatizing splinting of both arms and insertion of an IV, Bug and I were headed to the emergency room. Our bikes were left with the firemen, who said they would take them to the station. The x-rays confirmed the bad news. Both arms broken. (Along with the summer dreams . . . .)

I can not appropriately describe the past 8 days. But . . . it's not easy for a 10-year old to adapt to life without the use of her arms or hands, for the most part, for 4-6 weeks. It's not easy to have to give up soccer camps and tryouts and pool parties and riding your bike and not being able to play softball on the team you just made. For me, it's not easy feeding and bathing a 10-year old, brushing and flossing her teeth, taking her to the bathroom. Her school has not been the best to work with through this process, so I've been leaving work every day to drive back to the school and feed her and take her to the bathroom. She can't write, so she reads her homework assignment and I transcribe her answers. The teachers give her oral examinations (which I think has to be much more difficult). She's slept with me every night since the accident so I can make sure her arms are properly elevated above her heart like the orthopedic surgeon said they should be . . . which means I don't sleep much. It's hard not having Bug to help feed and walk the dogs or help carry in groceries or plant flowers or go jogging or start the tennis lessons that we were both supposed to start last Saturday. . . .

But you know what . . .

I am SO GRATEFUL!
I am grateful for that helmet. People who ride without them are certifiably insane.
I am grateful only her arms were broken and not her legs or her collarbone or her HEAD!
I am so grateful that this is going to make our strong relationship even stronger because we're both learning patience and appreciation and, yes, gratitude.
I am so grateful for the incredible friends who email and call and have sent cards and gifts --- you have no idea how much every little gesture means (even when I've been too tired to call back or reply to an email).
I am so grateful for our friends who left their family outing on Mother's Day to come get us from the hospital.
I am so grateful to the paramedic who gave Bug a stuffed teddy bear in the ambulance to help divert attention from the needle going into her arm and the nurse at the ER who splinted both of the bears arms so he would look like my daughter.
I am so grateful to the fireman who took care of our bikes and who all came out when we arrived to pick them up ---- 4 of them loaded our bikes on the racks and made such a big deal over Bug. (And, yes, there is a reason that "Fireman" was voted one of the sexiest professions. I can personally attest to this.)
I am grateful for casts that now come in colors that make little girls feel less like a freak -- Bug has one pink and one purple.
I am grateful for straws that allow a person without use of their arms to be able to drink from a cup. (This is what a difficult situation allows . . . you appreciate things you never think of.)
I am grateful for a job and a boss that allows me flexibility to be able to care for my child.

I . . . am grateful for the opportunity to learn from life's challenges.