My Shortest Home

Of the many places I have lived, south Jersey was the shortest stint.  Two newly minted college grads packed up their dear pet cat, Callie, and their little bit of belongings back in the summer of '93 and headed east.  The plan was that we'd more easily find jobs in New Jersey than in West Virginia.  I took a job as a bank teller and Darrell worked in his dad's office while we both mailed out resume after resume.  I interviewed for a math teaching position at a nearby private school.  We both received lots of rejection letters.

But it didn't take much to support our household back then.  My parents had given me my college savings, and Darrell had a bit of his left as well.  We rented a mobile home in Darrell's friend's mother's park.  A weekend's worth of dining out, going to movies, and just hanging with friends could typically be covered by about $50.  We fixed up the tiny mobile home.  I cross-stitched a Monopoly board, while the streets on which it was based where less than an hour down the road from us in Atlantic City.

We'd only been married nine months.  Our biggest fears had nothing to do with health issues, children, or anything else big that I can recall.  We did fear not finding good jobs, but mostly, life seemed simple then, generally much less stressful than it's been since.  We could drive 20 minutes down the road and take the boat out or just float and swim at Darrell's parent's house on the Mullica river.

It was the first place I lived outside of WV, but it didn't seem entirely unfamiliar either.  I'd already visited a handful of times, the first one over spring break of my freshman year of college.  I still remember traveling here the very first time with my fairly new boyfriend at the time, Darrell singing along to Outfield songs and telling me all about the place he'd grown up all the way there.

His parents remember me first as the girl Darrell talked about the prior fall, when he'd met the woman he was going to marry.  He was right, even though I wouldn't have agreed then.

We didn't live here long.  Less than three months later, Darrell was offered a job with Ford Motor Company in Michigan, and we were quickly heading off to our third state of residence together.  But I'll always have memories of that summer.  Driving south Jersey roads is a little easier just because I drove them so much that summer.  We visit here more than any other place besides my parent's home in WV.

I may not quite be a Jersey girl, but my Jersey boy has been my other half for most of my life now.  It's a place I always feel at home.  And if there ever is a time we don't visit, I will miss it deeply.

Dear Dr. Kovalski...

I doubt you would remember me, but I don't think I will ever forget your name.  We didn't talk much, and you didn't even seem to want to give straight answers to some of my scariest questions, but you helped make decisions that have impacted the rest of my life.

We didn't keep in touch.  I think after 1994, Darrell and I just wanted to move on with our lives.  If not completely healthy, he was at least cancer-free and getting better every day.  For a few more years, there were follow-up appointments with you that slowly became less frequent, but after treatments were over, I seldom went to the follow-up appointments.  I do remember the relief of a clean CT scan a year after treatments.  But I don't remember many talks with you after Darrell's initial diagnosis and some of his treatment appointments.

You told us to hope for Hodgkin's Lymphoma, and you were so right.  For cancer, it was relatively easy to cure.  At least it was if you call six months of debilitating chemotherapy, six weeks of radiation, and illnesses that 22/23-year-olds just don't get easy.

Of course, the biggest thing I'd like to thank you for is your part in curing my husband.  I wonder if you'd like to know that we are still together?  Married nearly 22 years now.  I don't know if that is any more or less likely when a young couple goes through what we did.  But I wish I could tell you this.

Darrell and I walked into his first chemotherapy appointment thinking the mix of drugs he'd start getting through his port had a 99% chance of sterility.  I don't think this bothered him at the time.  But, beyond the chance of losing him, it is what probably scared me the most about that day.  There aren't many things that I've just always known, but that I wanted to be a mother was one of them.  We'd made precautions.  We said we'd adopt if we had to.  But a part of me still thought I had to mourn the babies I might have had, if he'd just never gotten sick.

But you and the rest of Darrell's oncology team made a decision shortly before that first treatment that I believe also changed the path of our lives.  The combination of chemotherapy drugs you chose instead had only a 50% sterility rate.

So, the other thing I wish I could tell you is that we have two beautiful, amazing children.  One of them is almost not a child at all anymore.  And being their mother, raising them, watching them grow into their own, has been so much more than I even imagined it would be.  And you are a part of that.  Before Darrell getting sick, we'd planned to wait five years to have our first child just because we were married so young.  After, we waited several years to try anyway because of the treatments he'd undergone.  We had absolutely no trouble conceiving either child.  Our perfect (to me) daughter was born only slightly behind schedule, not all that long after our sixth anniversary.  We debated having just one child after all we'd already been through, but I never felt that our family was quite complete until our son arrived five and a half years later.

I'm sure there are still days that will come that will disappoint, as many have before.  My children have their own faults just as the rest of us do.  But they are also two amazing creatures who make me proud almost daily to be their mother and to have some small part in the adults they will become.  You have a part in that, too.  If not for you, I might not have them.  If not for you, I might not even have my husband.

Maybe someday I will find the opportunity to tell you in person, but until then, thank you.

Sum sum summertime...

It's that time of year again.  Those few weeks I feel like cursing my two algebra teachers (also among my favorite teachers, by the way) for so strongly discouraging me from becoming a teacher.  Because after all, why ever would someone good at math actually consider teaching it?  But I digress.  Because it isn't visions of cultivating a love of math and learning that swim through my head.  It is visions of, well, swimming... or rather lounging by a pool all day as I glance up to see my offspring having the time of their lives.

Never mind that I get paid more than most teachers I know.  Never mind the two days per week I get to work from home.  Never mind that I have stayed at home with my kids full-time a few different summers (and didn't spend all that much time lounging by the pool after all, all while I was probably jealous of the work-for-pay moms).  Never mind that I'm not even very good at "lounging" or relaxing for all that long anyway.  For a short time each year, I'm jealous of all you teachers and stay-at-home-moms.

In this ever-connected world, I see your posts about not setting alarm clocks, summer road trips, and schedule-free days, and I sigh.  I want that.  And I want my job, too.  At least, I would want it again after a few months off.  Why do we as humans want it all?

I am so much more content than I was in my teens, 20s, and 30s.  Whenever I stop to think about it, I know that I already have all I ever dreamed of.  I have more than 90% or more of those walking this earth. And, most of the time, that's more than enough. But then something shiny catches my eye (and since I like tech gadgets, this statement is very literal sometimes), and I want it, too!

 I think I even bear a slight resemblance to dear Veruca Salt of Willy Wonka fame:

And sometimes I wonder if that's how God sees me - as an unappreciative, spoiled brat.  I have so, so much, but I keep wanting more.  All while I usually feel best when I want the least.  I'm learning contentment, but I'm not sure that I'll ever really get there completely.  Thank goodness for God's grace.

So, I may still feel a little jealous this summer, but I'll also stop to remember and appreciate what I have.  And that's enough for now.