Perspective

 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.