Adventures in Babysitting

“But I SWEAR…. I’m GREAT with KIDS! They love me… kids LOVE me.”

 

I had this dream the other night where I was sitting in an interview and I found myself passionately arguing the above phrase to folks who appeared to be my apparent (and what I considered to be *in a desperately hopeful/please God give me this job/It’s what I was destined to do/I need money… please… the money) future employers.

Sure… I woke up and immediately started dissecting.

*Is it a sign?

*Am I re-defining myself?

*Missing my kiddos at school?

*Am I having single-income nightmares?

 

Flash forward to this morning.

You know… a typical morning filled with this.

 

And this.

 

Wonderful moments of learning, growth & development that I get to witness in not just my child- but another as well… doubly blessed.

And then.

 

I go to the bathroom.

 

For 2 seconds.

 

Make that 3… cause I stupidly decided to “tidy up” (aka hang up a towel).

 

I hear Saul… “Uh-oh Mommy…. Uh-oh.”

 

I open the door and find that Saul is now sporting (a failed mind you) purple paint goatee.

 

I walk into the kitchen and find Trip wedged between the table and chair helping himself to a bag of pretzels (oh… and also adorned in some warrior-like face paint) (and… now sporting some lovely dyed purple hair).

 

 I see this… which will no doubt cause a meltdown of epic proportions when discovered by Harper… and before you think… or say it… she will find out. She’s that kid.

 

I see this (though I’m sure you’ll agree with me that the spilled paint is small fries in comparison to the amount of dog hair on that slip cover- so yeah… maybe that was a good thing).

 

And best yet…

There’s my poor, sweet Daisy girl.

Head hung low, tail tucked… embarrassed to be associated with the culprits… clearly a victim in this case.

 

Me: “Boy’s… WHO DID IT?”

Trip: “Sauce.” (aka Saul)

Saul: in a quiet, sad tone “meeeeee…….”

Me: “Trip did you have any part in this?”

Trip: “I’s eattin Mommy… I’s eattin.”

Saul: “is meeee… Mommy… is meeeee”

 

Ah… if only we retained our innocence and ability to accept and admit fault throughout adulthood.

 

But really… I swear… I’m great with kids… really… I am…

A letter to you, pancreas

Sometimes I wonder what you’ve been doing in there. I assume you’ve just been floating around- hanging out- laying low. I continually speculate whether or not you’re dead?

Are you alive?   …     just a little bit?

Are you still working…     just a little bit?

They told me you might… you might occasionally work on and off before completely kicking the bucket -but really, we have no way of knowing for sure.

Every now and then, I think you’re holding on… and I wish you’d just let go.

 

I’d never tell anyone but you… secretly (mainly at night when I lie in bed) I plan and carry out elaborate funeral processions and eulogies (in my head) just for you. I imagine you there… cloaked in black somehow listening and acknowledging what I have to say.

I mourn your loss and the suffering your death has caused - Saul and our family - but mainly I exult in your passing… because finally… with it… we can officially move on.

The battle for control is over. You can now rest in peace knowing that your job will be performed… (not as good as you could have done, had you not gotten sick) but nonetheless, we (and soon Saul)  will carry out your functions … every minute of every day for the rest of his life.

A year later, a year wiser, a year of humility and humbleness under my belt, I can sincerely say “I forgive you.  It wasn’t your fault.”  You held on as long as you could. You got us to 15 months and according to what they tell me you were probably sick and dying during your entire existence so to even make it that far without assistance is pretty amazing and a testament to your perseverance.

You are an underappreciated organ. Your loss does not reflect a daily physical reminder- like a limb or a digit. You, unlike other internal organs, do not get the credit you deserve for keeping a body alive- not like the heart, or brain... yet without you one cannot survive.

You, a tiny, non-functioning pancreas- have shaped my life, my career, my outlook and my family more than any other “thing” (living or non) in this world… and this factor isn’t necessarily bad.  In fact, I often think… that maybe- you will be (what partly) makes Saul a unique, strong, amazing kid who will grow up to be an extraordinary adult who accomplishes, and achieves incredible things.

Yet… your passing doesn’t mean that I still don’t get angry or frustrated, that I don’t ask questions or demand answers, that I don’t wish there was some way we could have brought you back to life… saved you… lengthened the state of your health... prevented your ultimate demise.

 

 

In all variations of your memorial service (and believe me… I’ve thought of lots) – I close in the exact same way… I picture myself (with our family) standing alongside thousands of dollars’ worth of medical equipment and supplies (CGMS, Insulin Pumps, Tubing, Needles) and a very expensive life-saving diabetic alert dog… and I chuckle… because this is what it will take… all this… and more to do the job of an organ we all take for granted… an organ that none of us think much about… until  one day it just up and quits working.