It’s a Sunday afternoon, and Liam is lying on my couch, watching Minions: The Rise of Gru. I’m still surprised by his hairless head, with his four-inch, sutured incision that is raw and intimidating.
He turned 16 less than three weeks ago and it was only last
Saturday, a mere eight days ago, that he drove us to New Britain, so we could
indulge in some Polish food, after which we went to Bass Pro Shop so he could
buy his first “good” fishing pole. Eight days ago, we were blissfully ignorant
to all the things that can befall someone at any time. Not that we’re strangers
to those things that can befall someone; I feel that our family has had more
than its fair share. But, in those quiet moments in between Disaster-with-a-capital-D,
we all fall into that space…the taking for granted, the unappreciative, the
oblivious. What a glorious place that is to be.
It was only Monday afternoon, six days ago, that it all
started for real. Liam had been having frequent headaches and nausea for
the prior week (though, in hindsight, it was much longer than just a week), and
we made the connection that it might be a concussion from some trampoline
shenanigans that had happened the week prior…the typical bumps and bruises that
happen all the time with healthy, head-cracking boys. What we assumed would be
an overreaction trip to the ER transitioned to an admission to the ICU at the
Children’s Hospital, with the words “brain tumor” piercing the blissful bubble
we get to live in when we have healthy children.
Yet today, Liam is here on my couch, watching a movie. And
in those 5 ½ days in between? He was in the ICU where they were worried about
the potential for seizures, had a craniotomy and removal of a sizeable brain
tumor, got confirmation that the entire tumor was removed, and got the
additional news that the tumor was, gloriously, benign. In spite of having had BRAIN
SURGERY on Thursday, he was released from the hospital this morning (Sunday) and
is at home. He walks, he talks, he can do math, he has his sense of humor, he
looks like himself – minus that missing mop of hair and the incision. Yet he
had a four-hour brain surgery three days ago, coupled with an intimate look at his
own mortality, all at the tender age of barely-16. From healthy, to the
unknown, to surgery and recovery, to the best news imaginable…all at a
breakneck pace that seems unfathomable. Sometimes, it’s not a sprint, but a
marathon. And, sometimes, it’s just a sprint. While this week felt like 100
years long, it was also like the blink of an eye. Time is so strange like this.
As Liam’s mom, I could not be prouder of how Liam handled
this unsettling week. As someone who has had her own medical nightmare and
consciously tried to set the example for dealing with hard things with grace, I
also could not be prouder of Liam. I’ve said these words out loud at least a
dozen times over the last week, but I can’t ever say them enough. Watching him,
and watching the grace and the bravery with which he faced the unfair and
terrifying things he had to endure, gave a glimpse into the man he is growing to
be. And my heart bursts – with love, with pride, with awe – at this preview.
People have often said over the years, “You’ve raised great kids,” to which I always
say, “We’ll know for sure when they’re self-supporting, functioning adults.” And
while that is always the ultimate goal (and we’ve got some years before we get
to that point), I feel very comfortable in saying that there are many promising
signs that not only will they be self-supporting, functioning adults, they’re
also going to be good people.
I like to find the silver linings. They are always there,
even in the darkest of times, and somehow help me cope with the things that don’t
seem right. In a conversation last night in the hospital, Liam emotionally acknowledged
the perspective that a situation like this provides and, while this isn’t something
one ever wishes their 16-year-old to be knowledgeable about, it’s these crap
experiences that hopefully make us better, stronger, kinder people for when those
other, future Disaster-with-a-capital-D moments befall us. Hardship can
feel like a curse in the moment, but it can also be a blessing if we learn
something about the preciousness of life, and gratitude and grace, in the
process.
The Holocaust survivor, philosopher and author Viktor Frankl
wrote in Man’s Search for Meaning that while external events are beyond
our control, we do, however, possess total control over our internal attitude
and response. Liam’s internal attitude regarding this situation was amazing…not
that he wasn’t afraid, but that he was brave in the face of the fear and ready
to do what had to be done, without complaint or hesitation. While I want to
take some credit for this with how I think I responded to and dealt with my
recent health situation, I know that Mike deserves credit, as well…his whole
career was a demonstration of doing hard things without thought for self. And
so Liam’s internal attitude was amazing and full of strength, and so has been
his response. Still not a complaint about the situation, the procedure, or this
recovery time that will definitely sideline him for a while from sports and normal
life and our trip to Europe in three weeks (Liam told me from the get-go that he
still wants me and the kids to go, even though he is unable). Attitude and
response… I am blown away by him.
In my weaker moments, sometimes I think we’re the unluckiest
people, as we careen from one hardship to the next. But that thought doesn’t
last too long, and I instead wonder if we’re actually the luckiest people
around, as – somehow – we keep coming out the other side of these things,
avoiding the worst. Silver linings…they’re always there. And Liam reminded me
of this, this week, in an amazing way. He set the example…while he couldn’t control
what happened to him, he absolutely did control his attitude and response, with
a composure beyond his years. And, just maybe, came out of it with a gratitude
and perspective that will shape him forevermore. Silver linings, indeed.
