Spoons.

Spoons from across the world arrived in my mailbox today.

It is hard for me to put into words what this means to me. Some of you are probably saying… spoons? Erin… what the hell?

Adrienne explains, “Recently, FINALLY, after multiple surgeries (she lost 13in of her colon, her gall bladder, and her uterus, ovaries, and cervix) this year and so many emergency hospital stays, she received a diagnoses of Lupus.

One day on Twitter she spoke of ‘grabbing all the spoons’ she could because Lupus could #suckit. I had no idea what the heck she was talking about so I googled it.

WOW

Just WOW”

Of course Megan posted about it too, “Let me ask you one little question: If you could do something to make a person feel better – a person you could otherwise not help in her situation of unfortunate circumstance beyond her or your control – would you?

Think about it. We’ve all been there. We’ve all had someone in our life – whether a close family member or friend or perhaps it’s just someone we know through the blogosphere or Twitter world or maybe even it’s someone whose story we heard from someone who heard it from someone else… but somehow, it touched us, it haunted us, it made us feel helpless and it kept us scratching our heads and wondering What can I do? leaving us helpless because sometimes, in this life, we don’t always have the chance to fix things for others. No matter how badly we want to.”

And the next thing I knew a package of beautiful spoons were at my door.

I wept.

I thought I might laugh, or giggle, or maybe get misty eyed and tweet you all … instead I sat at my dining room table, kids around me, and I cried that ugly cry, reserved for those moments in life.

It had been a bad day. It had been a hard day. I started the morning teaching my Mom how to give me a chemo injection and was sitting at that dining room table feeling defeated because I was exhausted from going to the hair salon.

Again…I’m not sure you understand what this means to me. The timing. The symbolism. The everything.

My son rubbing my back, my daughter playing with the brightly colored spoons. And me…sobbing at the table, looking at a dozen or so kitchen utensils as if they were the answer to all my questions.

Spoons.

I wasn’t crying because I was sick. I wasn’t crying because I was so happy and the tears of joy came out.

No.

I was crying because I finally could.

After months of meals delivered to our door. Gifts. Visits. Virtual hugs, and the whole world reaching out to our little family just to check on us, I felt as though I could finally just let go.

Why?

Because I know you are there. These spoons tell me so. I can let go because you are there to pick me back up. I can let go because you have my back. I can finally let go because everything really WILL be ok if I let others help. If I let others lead. If I let my tired body heal and allow you to be in control. This is huge for me. This is not who I usually am. This is what needs to happen so I can tell Lupus to #suckit for good.

I have spoons.
I have everything.

And you have my very heartfelt thanks.

I drove in a circle in our town tonight. The kids in the back of the car, obviously chatting with each other.

I did three u-turns, and twice turned around to go home.

I couldn’t remember where I was going. Or why we were out.

This past weekend my husband headed to a local store for a family Christmas gift purchase.

Upon waking, he told me of his plans and twenty minutes later I asked him why he was getting showered and dressed.

After his shower, as he got on his shoes to go, I asked where he was going. Why was my husband leaving?

As he stood by the door, keys in hand, I looked at him blankly and said ‘wait…where are you going?’

I won’t be driving much unless necessary now. And I have new notepads, pens, and post-it notes to help me remember.

The episodes are short, they are fleeting, and allegedly they will get better. Or worse. We’re not sure.

I just know that I’m crying. I’m scared. And I’ve had enough.

Soldiering on. That’s what my kids are doing here.

They decided, a good few blocks from home, they wanted to build an amazing fort with these discarded palms. I told them they could do whatever they wanted with them provided they carried them home. Not me.

So they trudged. And toiled. And grunted.

And eventually they turned the corner to home.

Elated they threw the palms in our yard and fist-bumped.

Then you know what they did? They quickly and totally forgot all about the fort and sat down to discuss, at great length, how hard they worked to get home.

There are always those that say it’s not the destination, but the journey. I’m starting to understand it a bit better.

My Lupus has flared again. My liver is under attack and infected, enough to where we have to cancel birthday plans and pick up new meds and have me rest. And I’m realizing this roller coaster…this healthy, sick, semi-healthy, semi-sick thing is my life. It will be my life for good now, and I need to stop worrying so much about the destination.

I need to focus on enjoying the journey.

So for my birthday wish, I’d like to be more like my kids. Carefree, excited, and enjoying every part of the journey, even if it’s hard work.

Update December 11, 2010: