Monday, June 11, 2012

Minor Breakdowns, Here and There, Caused by Color

Obviously, anytime I (read: Vor) has to describe what the surgery entails, I melt down.  I mean, they basically have to remove her skull and reshape it.  Even typing that, I feel the panic swelling and knot coming and the eyes stinging and the breathing and the nausea and the heaving—

Stop.  Stop it.  Stop it stop it stop it stop it.  I basically fist my hands into my eyes and breathe breathe breathe to make it stop.  Every time. 

We came out to Buffalo this week to have Lis baptized.  She was baptized on my birthday.  I was supposed to go to my ten year high school reunion, but I thought I might screaming into the night if someone asked me in a perky voice, “How ARE you? How ARE things?” The priest said an extra prayer for Lis.  I took deep, even breathes.  No breakdowns.  No.

I came around the corner, and my sister was holding Lis, asleep, with her hand wrapped around my sister’s finger.  A tear was rolling down my sister’s cheek. 

I saw my mother’s and my father’s jaws just drop open, speechless, as Vor described the surgery. 

We got the bloodwork back for Lis's bloodtype--and I'm not it.  She has Vor's type, and I can't donate to her.  I cried.  It was something to do, ANYTHING to do, and I can't do it.  

And then, even though it was totally unrelated, we walked past my grandparents old house, and I burst into tears.  We were out walking Lis, and I wanted to see the house where I had so many good memories.  We came around the corner and there was house—but instead of a cute white cottage with black shutters, it was painted Easter egg purple, with some shutters green, and some shutters blue, with mauve trim on random places. 

It’s not my grandparents house anymore.  They’ve been gone for years.  But it was a safe place, a place of good memories, and I always loved walking past it, knowing that my grandma would be so happy to know there was a couple with children living there now.  

That day, I needed it to be as it always was, and it wasn’t.  Seems like nothing else.


Day by day, I'm getting there.  I'm able to explain this thing now.  I don't look at her face and imagine horrible things. I don't cry over the fact that I can't donate to Lis--because I am donating to someone else's need.  I met up with high school friends while I was home, and survived the friendly questions.  I made my parents and siblings feel better, and understand what was coming.  I made schedules, plans, read information, booked rooms, etc.  I'm in motion.

I just haven't gotten over the color.  I mean, purple?  With blue and green and mauve? No.

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