Can I write about inner joy when mine (and possibly yours) has left the building? My husband, Bill, and I are in the same boat as many -- unemployed and staring down several major health issues not covered by insurance. Then, on the second day of our much needed family vacation, Bill's back herniated. Sheesh. That's when our pity-party really started swingin' in full gear.
We invited all the usual attendees. Blame was high on the list. Sadness was beamed in. And Anger quickly crashed the party. The kids were the only ones who ignored the crowd, choosing instead to hang out with Fun and Light. Thank goodness they don't listen to us. We're not very grown up.
We returned from our "vacation" (if we can technically call it that) to a two-day blackout. Electrical transformers were popping like fireworks during New Jersey's heat wave. We lost all power. Perfect metaphor. Without AC or fans, our little house was a tandoori oven. The food in the fridge and freezer was a goner. The tropical fish went belly up.
As candle flames lit our black, steamy living room, my nine-year-old said brightly, "It feels like Christmas!" A Who down in Whoville. We slept in the dark, dank basement on a variety of uncomfortable surfaces. The next evening, when the lights came on, the TV was also a casualty. But the all-important computer, by god, survived. Then a renegade email made me kind of sorry about that, too.
An old friend of the family, I'll call her Jill, had emailed to say she'd loved my memoir. She went on to state that my siblings had been angry at my parents when they discovered they might be carriers of S.E.D., the dwarfism my brother, Ethan, and I have. Angry? My brain stumbled and twitched.
Jill wrote that she'd been insensitive -- long ago, she'd asked Mom why they'd had another child after Ethan. Mom had replied that the doctor had believed (incorrectly) that it wouldn't happen again -- Ethan was a "mutation." Nice.
Jill concluded by saying it was a good thing my parents believed the doctor -- otherwise I might not be here to share my wisdom. Thanks. Except I was still short-circuiting over the previous comments. You'd think after 46 years of taking heat for this nonconformist body, nothing would electrify me. But it can still shock like a taser.
Was my dwarfism really that awful to my siblings? They loved me, this I knew. But had they also secretly resented me and Ethan? Had they feared giving birth to a little person? I felt idiotic for never having asked. I'd missed a lot of life believing I was the only one suffering. Self-absorbed. Another character flaw to add to my party list.
I emailed my siblings. My history was chock full of unwritten letters and conversations I'd never had. I'd clear this right up. The medical world wanted to prevent the likes of Ethan and me. Had my family? My body carries an unwanted diagnosis -- does it make the rest of me unwanted, too?
My genetic condition would not have been intolerable. It was living in a world where "flawed" babies are born into sadness. Regret. We're given the label "birth defect" and we believe the label. It's taken some work to unschool myself from that.
Ironically, I've spent the last four months talking on radio and TV about my memoir, and about the gifts that come from adversity. I felt self-empowered. Confident. Free. Then one measly email snuffed the fire. So, I'm still a work in progress.
One sister's email came zipping back. She'd never been upset with Mom and Dad for the reason's Jill extrapolated and found Jill's comments "weird." Phew, it wasn't just me.
Then came my brother's reply. It stopped Time.
He said he'd been proud of Mom and Dad for the special love they'd showed to Ethan and me over the years. His memories of Ethan's birth, and then mine, went on and on, unraveling across the screen. Happy, unsullied memories. No fears. I'd never read anything so beautiful. About me.
He said, "Your presence gave us something very special that we didn't have before. And while it also brought a wound and a suffering -- because we shared in some way every suffering of yours -- we were even better for it. You and Ethan made us more human and so, more happy, and we love you to this day."
The dam burst. Tears plowed down my cheeks and dunked me in feelings I had held at bay. My heart bathed in his message, his promise, his love -- something so real it melted a hurt I didn't know was still frozen.
And so it goes -- just when we think we can't bare any more weight. When our backs are aching from the burden. Our finances are drained. Our power has gone out. Just when I wanted to blame Jill for further confusing my spirit, I realized that she had delivered a blessing. My siblings and I were all the better for our healing exchanges. Love came looking, and although She was disguised as an unwanted messenger, She came just the same. My heart and my hope grew three sizes that day. The Grinch would be so proud.