Back in my former life (pre-leukemia), I used to pride myself on being a good thank you note writer. I always tried to get them out in a timely matter following the receipt of any gift or service. I would write something sincere and hopefully meaningful about the gift, seal it, and drop it in the mailbox during one of my walks around the neighborhood with the boys. I always loved that feeling of completion. That feeling of closing the circle. Gift received, gift acknowledged. Done and done.
When Fionn got sick in June, we were flooded with gifts and help. I'm really not being hyperbolic here. It was overwhelming in the best, most incredible way. In fact, Fionn received so many presents that we started limiting him as far as how many he got to open. Only two gifts per day. One after his morning medications and one after his evening medications. Two gifts a day, people. I started joking that I wasn't sure what would be harder to overcome -- the leukemia or the spoiled brat that Fionn would surely become as a result of all those presents!
At first, I tried to keep up. Conor started me an Excel spreadsheet where I would record each and every gift that arrived, the date it came, and a little description of the thing. "Hand sewn blanket from Andrea Lemire," I carefully recorded. "Green with Buzz Lightyear-type icons on it." There was also an abundance of food that was made for us (as well a deep freeze that was purchased for us to house this food, I'll have you know). This too was carefully recorded.
Oh, and of course, there was also Deaglan care. Our little guy was basically passed from one amazing friend to another for that first week after we got Fionn's diagnosis until our family could get there to assist. Neither Conor nor I could bear to leave Fionn that first week, so we were by his side constantly in the ICU. Yep, all Deaglan care was dutifully documented.
Everything went on the list. Every visit, every unusually kind email. Everything. Heck, I even noted once when one of my friends bought me a Diet Coke during her visit. It's the little things, right? Riiiight.
My thought was this. Writing thank you notes was simply not possible at the time. Life was too crazy. Our thoughts were too fixated on Fionn. We had no energy to spare. None. My thought was that I would begin a massive thank you note writing campaign when things calmed down. Just commit one day and do it.
Well, it's nearly six months later, and I am embarrassed to say that my Excel spreadsheet has been virtually unused. As the entries started to pile up last summer, I realized that I had to surrender. As important as those nice notes had always been to me in the past, they simply weren't fitting into my new life as a cancer mom. Worst of all was that I was starting to resent the gifts we received because it would mean one more thing for me to do. And that doesn't serve anybody!
So I let go. It's one of the many things I have let go in the past six months. (Sadly, many of the other things have to do with my appearance and cooking for my family. Sorry, Conor!). I still try very hard to thank people for the gifts and services they are bestowing upon our family. But I do it through a text. Or an email. Something quick I can do while Fionn watches a show or naps. There might be a time in the future when my formal handwritten notes make a resurgence. But it isn't right now. And that has to be okay.
Because here's the thing. People weren't doing those wonderful things for us because they needed acknowledgement on a pretty thank you note. They were doing them because they loved us and wanted desperately to help. Desperately. I will never forget the sound of desperation in my dear friend Corey's voice when I talked to her for the first time following Fionn's diagnosis. "I have to help. I have to do something. Please let me do something." And I did. Boy, did I ever. Corey is one of the many unsung heroes in this journey. Behind the scenes but always thinking of us. Always trying to help. We are so forever grateful to Corey and so many, many others. We honestly could not have survived this time without you all. Really. I think I would have ended up in the looney bin. And my children would have definitely been existing on PB&J sandwiches for the past 6 months. That much is clear.
This Thanksgiving is different in a lot of ways, and not just because we will be here at the hospital. It is different because we have more to be grateful and thankful for than ever before. Through Fionn's journey over the past 6 months, we have learned that we are stronger as a family than we ever knew that we could be. And we have learned that we are loved. Very, very loved. And honestly, what is more important than that?
Love, love, love. Love is all you need. (Someone once said that, right?)
And last but most important on our gratitude list is this. Our boy is kicking cancer's ass and taking names. We will get discharged tomorrow around 2:30 pm. Happy Thanksgiving indeed.
Best to everyone during this special holiday season. Our warmest thoughts are with you all.
Happy Thanksgiving!
ReplyDeleteNate Durland