Lessons Donna Taught Me

Once you choose hope, anything's possible. 

~ Christopher Reeve

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I've been in what I refer to as a "funk."  It started about a week ago and hasn't left.  Each day seems to worsen.  Many times, I've felt I'm on a roller coaster where I'm in the final car and I can't see where we're going.  Is there a twist or a turn coming up?  I couldn't tell you.  Many thanks to those who have put up with me, especially dad of the year.  After all, we know he'd rather be subjected to rolling in a thorn bush naked and then forced to watch The Notebook over and over again than to deal with large amounts of estrogen.  Sorry, honey! 

Today, I figured it out.  The funk is actually some strange form of grief.  According to Google, at about step number 4 of a 7 step process to be exact.  I swore I wouldn't get caught up in it.  I knew I couldn't identify with it in any way.  I promised myself I would be...numb.  But, I'm human.  And my darn parents raised me to be one heck of a caring individual.  It took about 15 days of that sweet face to have me firmly in her grasp.  I fell head over heels for a blonde-haired, blue eyed, beautiful little girl named, Donna. 

Many of you have stuck with me through the month of September and several Facebook posts and Tweets about a sweet little girl named, Donna.  I even blogged about her (briefly) and her mommy, Mary Tyler Mom, as I reflected on a loss I suffered due to cancer.  A friend once asked me how I could read this blog about a mother's 31 month journey with her daughter's battle with cancer all while knowing the outcome?  I'm not sure I can put the reason into words other than, I'm a mom.  I read because I can.  I read because I love my kids.  I read for other moms who have lost someone they love to cancer.  I read because I want to raise awareness myself to pediatric cancer.  I read out of great respect for Donna's mom.  Mostly, I read because it is what I would want someone to do for me if I were in Mary Tyler Mom's place. 

I'm well aware of how ridiculous this sounds.  It's just a story about a person I've never met.  I can say with plenty of evidence, I'm one of thousands of people who read, wept, and learned.  In the end, I have to turn these feelings into something productive and the best way I can honor Donna's memory and her incredible spunk is to be the best wife, mother, daughter, sister and friend I can be.  I'm finishing this roller coaster ride in the only way I know how:  to write.  After 31 days of reading, here is what I learned from Donna's Story:

1.  Live each day as though it is your last. 
I've always had the motto to live life with no regrets.  I do find myself simply connecting with my children more, allowing one more story to be read, and hugging my kids a bit more tightly than I used to.  I never leave for the day without telling my family how much I love them. 

2.  I'm stronger than I know.
While going through a tornado like funnel of emotions, and allowing myself to grieve for a little girl I never met, I also learned that life...eventually...goes on.  I'm a strong person.  So strong that I'm going to quit with all these someday, eventuallys, and incapabilities in my head.  Perhaps it's time to believe I CAN write that book I've always talked about. 

3.  My kids are stronger than I know. 
Reading about Donna's cancer treatment was, as Mary Tyler Mom put it best, whiplash.  However, with every post I watch my daughters get over bumps, scrapes, bruises and heartaches.  They do so with the resiliency I know they could have learned from one place: me! 

4.  Being a optimist isn't half bad. 
I've often been teased for my optimism.  No matter what I do, it's always there.  A co-worker once asked me if I'd ever come across an incident where I couldn't find a silver lining?  Well...yes I have.  But no, I've never broadcast it.  I'm the cheerleader when everyone else is the heckler.  I tend to see the good in most everyone I meet and every situation life hands me.  I think that has and will continue to serve me well.  Another great trait I can pass along to my children. 

5.  I can always, even on my best day, be a little kinder. 
I told a story to a group of people a week ago about two frogs who fell in a hole.  The frogs at the surface realize the two in the hole can never get out so they begin telling them to give up.  One frog does but the other eventually jumps her way out.  Once out of the hole, she is asked how she accomplished this amazing feat?  She informs the other frogs she is deaf, and while she couldn't hear the others shouting to her to give up, she could only assume they were encouraging her to make it out of the hole.  The moral of the story was to be an encouraging frog.  While I know not everyone in that room got the story, it was maybe a reminder to me to always help another who might be struggling. 

6.  Behind every mom of the year, there's an amazing dad of the year.
Well, this holds true most of the time because I know some pretty incredible single mothers out there (you know who you are).  But I know I am so blessed to be married to a man who is loving, caring, smart, funny and oh so tolerant.  He holds me up when I cannot and makes me feel I can do anything - be anything - accomplish anything. 

Coming out of my "funk" has taken time and plenty of reflection.  Loss, such as the loss written about by Mary Tyler Mom, is not foreign to most of you.  It's easy to look around, see the events going on in the world, our state, even in our towns and feel sad.  However, I ask you to choose hope.  See the simple beauties that come your way, even if they are very small.  Be strong.  Be an encouraging frog.  Shoot for the stars and find that silver lining.  And show those you care about how much you appreciate them.  Words can never thank those people who knew I was not myself and did everything they could to pull me out of this rut.  Without your support and love, I might have been in that "funk" much longer. 

Every day, I tell my girls words of encouragement.  Things such as:  "you're smart," "you're kind," "you are loved."  I know daughter of the year #1 struggles with her confidence, so I left this little note she'll find in her folder when she goes to school next week.

After all, amazing is best when shared with others.  Now, go share your amazingness.