Brave & Sad at Once

I could feel the knot in my throat that would in seconds turn to tears. Was this how it would be every year; every first day of school? No, the knot was not because I was mourning the end of summer or that my kids are growing up (sure, those tears come…but let’s be honest mostly we are a little excited, kind relieved, right?!). This knot came as I walked out of the special education unit where I left my new 7th grade daughter who was feeling vulnerable and scarred. And as I drove away I was mad and sad. You probably know those combination of feelings. Then the mantra plays in my head, “It’s not FAIR! After everything she has had to fight for- why this too?”

You see about 8 years ago things in my life really broke. I learned real quick what genuine heartbreak felt like and every day since then has been me figuring out how to heal from the break. So today, it’s like I just bumped the sensitive scar I carry on my heart. It stings and then leaves a dull pain for awhile.

January 11^th , 2010 is a day I’ll never forget. The Salazar’s world changed at 9:30 a.m. on a Monday morning. Our four-year-old daughter, Mia, was very pale, weak, and lethargic. We had been to the doctor a few days before, but she was getting worse.

At the doctor’s office, her pediatrician checked Mia’s stomach. I remember he got a strange look on his face when he felt under her ribs. He said, “Her liver and spleen are enlarged. We need to get some blood work.” In my mind, that confirmed my original, intuitive diagnosis. H1N1 had been all over the news, and I sure this was the health crisis we were about to face. Oh, how wrong I was.

As our pediatrician steadied Mia for blood work, it took four tries just to get a small amount of blood from her arm. After the horrible process Mia fell quickly asleep; meanwhile, I phoned Jaime, my husband, to give him an update on Mia’s prognosis: “They want to run some tests. She may be pretty sick, and I’ll need to cancel my meeting today. I’ll keep you posted.”

I was restructuring my day in my mind, sitting in a chair with Mia on my lap when her pediatrician walked back in. He sat down on the doctor’s stool. A bad feeling began to creep through my body. This doctor never sat down. Now he was not only sitting down but also pulling the chair closer to Mia and me. He also had a sad, worried look on his face.

He inched the chair closer, looking down as he wheeled toward us. Then he looked up, his mouth formulating words whose weight I could not yet feel. “I think it’s leukemia.”

What? My brain jumped to immediate denial. No, it’s not that; it can’t be that. And yet, looking into her doctor’s eyes while Mia lay sleeping on my lap, I knew he was serious. A single tear ran down my face. At that exact moment my phone rang. I looked down, and it was Jaime calling for another update. I handed my cell phone to the doctor and told him to please inform my husband, Jaime. I just knew there was no way I could say the word leukemia. Again, I heard the doctor say, “I think it’s leukemia,” and again the words hung heavily in the air. I refused to let them settle into my brain, to become a reality.

The doctor handed the phone back to me and said that in the next few hours an oncologist would be calling to set up an appointment to see Mia. The appointment would be scheduled for later that day. Already, things were setting into motion too quickly, giving everything a surreal quality.

I looked down at Mia. She was so pale; the bags under her eyes were now so evident to me. She had slept through the last ten horrible minutes that had just radically changed our lives. I pulled her in tighter for a moment, kissed her head, and lifted her to my shoulder. That bad feeling in my stomach had now turned into a solid boulder, and I felt the weight of it through my entire body as I carried Mia out of the doctor’s office. I don’t remember how I got her into her car seat and then drove the few miles to my parents’ house, where we would wait for the oncologist’s call; I especially don’t remember having any feeling, thought, or plan as to what would happen next.

And that was the start of a gut wrenching and still a miraculous journey. Three times I have had doctors lead me to her bedside to say “goodbye” because they were certain she would not live past the next few hours. I still don’t remember exactly what I said that first time; I mean no parent is ever ever prepared for that moment and it had only been 36 hours since I first walked into the pediatrician’s office on January 11th. But one thing I remember whispering in my sweet daughter’s ear as she was fighting for her life. I told her, “You are so brave and you are so strong.”

So, as I drive down the road back home I tell myself the same thing. “You are so brave and you are so strong.” When I get home, I turn on some worship music as I wash the dishes and then tune into a great podcast that will speak life to my soul.  I remind myself of all the times God showed up even while at the moment there’s still a bit of the mad feelings hovering below the surface. But I do it anyway. I remember that NO, she did not die even when I told her goodbye. NO the cancer miraculously has never returned. NO she did not remain an invalid and instead relearned to walk, talk and live a life when doctors say that may never happen. And yet, cancer still broke things. It broke the dreams and plans I had of what my only daughter’s life would be like. So on day’s like today I have to remember there have been so many brave moments. For her of course, she’s been the bravest. But for me as well. Being brave in the face of a broken heart, a broken dream, a broken relationship is hard…so, so hard. Having courage when you can’t control how her life will turn out….or yours.

And so I think of all the women who are in the thick of their brokenness…a broken marriage, a broken family, a broken dream, a broken heart. To you, I would say “You are brave. You are strong.” Being BRAVE means showing mental and moral strength to face fear, danger or difficulty (Merriam-Webster). You can do that! Yes, you can! I have met so many brave women in my life- who have suffered more brokenness in their lives and I have seen them set their face towards that difficulty and keep moving. And you know what it takes to be brave….COURAGE. It’s actually part of the brave definition- showing courage. 

So what will it take for you to be strong in the face of your pain, your difficulty, the piece of you that is broken? Maybe it means turning on some worship music, sharing with a good friend or journaling. I’m doing all 3 today! But do something- you have to CHOOSE to be brave. You have to CHOOSE to have courage.

Life is not going to always go easy on you and being brave leads to greatness DESPITE having parts of you that are in some stage of brokenness- whether it’s a fresh wound, a thin scab or a permanent skin-thickened scar. I bet this woman mentioned in the Bible had her own scars and yet she did what it took to be brave.

“She is clothed with strength and dignity and she laughs without fear of the future.” Proverbs 31:25. 

Let’s be that kind of woman today! I’m going for it.

Emily Ordeman-Salazar