Chapter 29

THE NECTAR OF LIFE

I’m grateful for the tumor. Grateful I had a chance to almost die so that I could be more appreciative of life. Every time I take a sip of water, it feels different. It feels amazing. Swallowing water. Something I’ve done my whole life, and then couldn’t do anymore and didn’t know if I could ever do again. Once I could, the feeling didn’t change—I changed.

It’s a strange concept to express gratitude for something that really messed everything up for a while, but had it not been for this catastrophe, I never would have had the opportunity to see what my marriage could survive. I wouldn’t have experienced the same kind of painful separation from my children, which was necessary for me to realize exactly how I could love them without being a drill sergeant.

I wouldn’t have imagined that my mother, father, and siblings could literally drop everything to rush to my side, and be there for my family. Maybe I would’ve expected one or two of them, but literally everyone came. I built deeper friendships. The friends who were really the true friends were highlighted in a sea of acquaintances.

I never would have experienced the ecstasy of a Mister Softee cone on a hot summer day. The first time I added on to my kids’ order of the push-ups, rocket pops, and SpongeBob-shaped ice cream bars, saying, “And I’ll take a vanilla cone for myself,” I sat on the cement with them watching a group of street musicians perform in front of the fountain at Washington Square Park. The sweet, icy, creamlike substance, which was probably as antinutritious as the formula that I loathed in the hospital, felt like manna from heaven as it easily glided down my throat, causing me to forget my struggle with swallowing. My kids were more excited than I’d seen them opening up a first birthday present at the sight of me communing with them in this new way. “The Food Nag” had transformed into Princess Softina!

Without my suffering, it would have been impossible to achieve this higher level of joy. Things I took for granted my entire life have new and profound meaning. Someday, I may just swallow water and not feel how good it is. I hope not. My prayer every day is to not forget how good it is to swallow water. My wish for everyone is to be grateful for swallowing water.

I am so thankful for this new perspective. This new directive to take advantage of a God-given second chance. This chapter is not the end, but rather the beginning of a new life.

If the pear (the actual fruit, not the tumor) is indeed a metaphor for life, my old life was a rock-hard pear that cut really well with nice sharp angles, but the flavor was lacking. Now it’s a misshapen overripe pear that just mushes under the knife, but the juice is the sweetest thing you’ll ever taste.

Life goes on and children grow up fast. Some of you might be in “baby land” and be like, “This is too tough! When am I getting my life back?” There are periods that seem to take forever, but then you blink your eyes and they are borrowing your shoes. One of the many gifts that I received from my blessing of a brain tumor was the recognition of the passage of time. You know those people when you were a kid who every time they saw you were like, “You have grown so much since I saw you last!” Well, now that’s me to my own kids, every day. Another gift this sickness gave me was the opportunity to look at my life from the outside and realize that my concept of caregiving for my kids was actually preventing me from fully experiencing them. When I was recovering at home, I saw that my having been the alpha controller of the whole operation was actually stealing the power from my family and preventing them from blossoming into masters of their own lives. I’d been overwatering the garden.

Removing the mama bear from the caregiver role had helped everyone around me, and especially Jim, to discover their innermost power and figure out how to make their own damn porridge. Or the story of the person spontaneously finding the strength to lift a car off of someone who is trapped. They always had it in them, but they needed a crisis to let it out.

I’m filled with gratitude that over the past two years, I’ve been given new eyes to see the goodness, the generosity, and the compassion in my community. There was something about observing people—the nurses, the doctors, the therapists, the friends, the husband—offer so much of themselves to help another human being that was totally inspirational and life-changing.

It has become an absolute necessity for me to look around at my life and find little ways that I can cultivate in myself the kind of generosity that was shown to me. And in turn inspire it in my children. The hand that rocks the cradle changes the world. Unless it’s that one cradle where the bow breaks; that’s a disturbing nursery rhyme.

You don’t need to have your own kids or be a parent to understand this. In fact, it’s probably easier if you don’t have kids. Heck, everything is easier if you don’t have kids. Especially writing a book. I would have been done with this chapter about six weeks ago if I didn’t have kids. But kids can be wonderful canvases. We can model our behavior as if we are shaping someone else because we are shaping someone else. We are shaping our world, and we alone have a very short time on this planet, so let’s use it wisely. Maybe get a group of friends and families together and help out at a soup kitchen. It’s incredibly bonding and meaningful. Sometimes it’s hard to figure out who benefits more: those being served, or those serving. Or find someone in need and reach out to them in kindness. It doesn’t have to be a major production. A small gesture can have a huge effect.

In the past year, with some gentle guidance and suggestions, my kids have all found their own little ways to make a difference in their communities. Katie started a “Box of Sox” drive at her school to help a neighborhood shelter. Marre, in high school now, initiated a “Women Helping Women” collection of products for the homeless. Jack, full of compassion for the disabled, is forming friendships across barriers, and all the boys are engaged in Zero Waste and motivated to save the planet! And their friends are encouraged and inspired because goodness spreads.

“The children are the future” may be a tired old cliché and also a line in a top ten song from 1986, but it’s true. If we can give them simple examples of tolerance, kindness, and gratitude and provide ample opportunities for them to express those attributes, we can give them greatness. And that is better than money, toys, and all the Mister Softees in the universe.

In conclusion, I’ll leave you with a little to-do list: