Something has been weighing heavy on my heart lately, friends. I've decided to write about it in hopes of lightening my load. Thank heaven for blogging.
Dustin and I grew up in a place (it wasn't even a town until we were in our teenage years!) called Oakley, a small (SMALL, folks!) country town about an hour east from San Francisco. We went to the same middle and high schools and fell in love in Study Hall at age 16. We spent our childhood years there - ice cream trucks, pool parties, dirt lots with sweet jumps for bikes. We kissed for the first time in front of our high school in the backseat of Matt's car. We lost our gosh darn virginity in my Mother's house (sorry Mom!) in Oakley. After we completed high school and were very much in love, we went to community college together and worked in a family-friend owned Amish Furniture store. We went to the movies in the next town over together. Oakley was home.
After we grew up, we spent most of our adult lives trying to get away. We moved to Washington after getting married to start anew, only to be brought right back home with my first re-diagnosis at age 21. After I got well, we moved again and tried to make it work. We rented a crappy little house and then moved back home for a few months. Then we moved about 45 minutes away into a condo that turned out to be a real sour deal. We stayed for 2 years, almost, but then, once again, returned home after I was re-diagnosed (the last time). We learned of the small tumor in my lung and after successfully completing my radiation, we planned on staying in the condo, but my fourth bout of cancer (the last one) sent us back home and away from the condo for good. I stayed with my family a bit, then Dustin's and just when we though I was done on this Earth and the tumors were going to win, God sent me these Doctors, these surgeons, that saved me. I was so close to dying that I was not able even to keep water down. I watched those that I loved tip-toe around my body. I was given anything I asked for, but didn't ask for much besides keeping any kind of strong smell away. I had taken up residence on the couch at Dustin's parent's house. I watched Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium in my almost-dead haze and sobbed that my shoes has worn out ("I fell so completely in love with these shoes, I bought enough pairs to last my whole lifetime. This is my last pair. And I will die"). This was it, I thought. The place that we always returned to was the place that I would see my life's end.
Or was it? The doctors. The God-sent doctors that saved me. When I was so bad that we all thought I was going in to the E.R. for the final time, I was blessed with these doctors and a bit more life. Somehow my time wasn't up. I had been given another pair of shoes. I had a wildly successful surgery, and even though it was hell, I bounced back. After a bit of diet tweaking (minimal to no wheat or processed soy), my body returned to its normal state, for the most part.
Guess what we did next? We moved away again. First to the next town over and most recently about 50 minutes away out by San Francisco. We got pregnant and, in June of last year, had the sweetest, most amazingly beautiful little boy to ever grace our Earth. I've been healthy. We've been so well! Blessed doesn't even begin to cover it and we are so very thankful.
Coming full circle... the heaviness, right friends? What do you think I'm talking about? What, in this beautiful, quiet life of ours could we possibly be missing?
I came home from my doctor's appointment last month and found my Dad, who was watching Roman, pacing our living room with my son asleep in his arms. My son sleeps on no one. This was a boy, who only months before was terrified of my Father. He would cry the second my Dad tried to pick him up and now he was fast asleep in his arms. My child needs to be around his family. Not that Dustin and I aren't enough, but there is more to our family tree than just the three of us.
What are we missing?
"I'm only asking that you turn the page, continue reading... and let the next story begin," said Mr. Magorium. It's taken years for us to get where we are, years of leaving and falling back home. Years of adventures and of heartache and of crafting our story. Years of running from where we come. Now it's time to run back. With healthy bodies and full hearts, it's time to rise to the occasion and run back home.