Grieving

I have broken my writing streak - I apologize. I decided in rather last minute fashion, that I would come to Iowa with my parents this weekend to see my niece's dance recital. You might wonder why I would travel four and a half hours for a dance recital. Laura is no ordinary dancer. She began in kindergarten and is now going to enter the eighth grade. We have seen her grow up in her dancing, although one fact has always remained constant: she is the best dancer at the recital. I know you think I'm just biased, but this is not the case. She really is the best! : ) No joke. For years I have been seeing her recitals on DVD, but last year Richard and I came to our first recital. And I was hooked. This year I had the special added enjoyment of spending time taking pictures of Laura. Not only is she a wonderful dancer, she is also an all around wonderful person. As her aunt Peggy put it this evening, "She's pretty special, isn't she?" That she is. I think her pictures reflect that. Here are a few of my favorites:

(That's her in the front, and she had to hold that pose for a long time...she was awesome!)

The music at the recitals is usually amazing, and today was no exception. I get so emotional when listening to music, don't you? Today, as I watched the girls dance - moving their bodies gracefully (at least most of them), I long to have two legs. I let myself go down the "what if" path for just a moment: what if I had two legs...I would ice skate and dance and run up and down the stairs and not be tired or sore or so hot all of the time. There are not many moments when I feel this way, but watching ice skating, dancing, and gymnastics always gives me this intense feeling of longing. 

Many times in the last few months, I find myself looking in the mirror and not exactly recognizing who I see. I wonder if I look different to those around me. I know I am heavier, but it is deeper than that. Jane (aka, therapist) says I am a mode of self exploration, and this is why I feel so odd, even to myself. 

The thing is that since I lost my leg at the age of ten, I don't really remember having a leg. I don't long to be the person I was...to me I am who I am. The longing is more of a longing to be someone else - to change who I am into someone who is more self-confident, assured, and comfortable. To me, I think having a leg would provide all of that. In my mind I think, "Surely if I had two legs I would feel so good about myself." I quickly remind myself of the many two-legged self-conscious people I know, but I'm just sure that wouldn't be me.

In order to know what they were seeing on x-rays, the doctors at the Mayo Clinic did a biopsy of my left femur to see what was inside. I already knew in my heart what was inside my leg. It was cancer. I was sick - again. I woke up from a nap, still in the hospital recovering from the biopsy, and my parents were there, along with a few doctors, one being my surgeon. My parents were crying. My mom was sitting to the left of me, on my bed. My dad was on the right side of the bed, standing back a ways, looking away, trying to protect me from the pain in his eyes. Amy was out at the nurses station, and I could see her through the glass. 

"We are going to amputate your leg," the surgeon said. I remember these words but none of the words before those or even those immediately following. I remember an intense desire to escape the room, to run away from the news and especially from the pain my parents were experiencing. I wanted nothing more than to grab Amy and run. Run. Run. As much as I wanted to escape the situation, it was one I had myself prepared for. I knew before the biopsy was performed that the cancer had returned. I just felt it in my gut. And so the news, while devastating, was not a surprise to me.

I did not cry - not one bit - upon hearing the news. I just sat there making myself go away somewhere in my mind. My mom supported me, "It's okay to cry."

"I don't feel like crying," I said matter-of-factly. And I didn't. I did not hold back tears to protect them from my pain. The tears were not there. Had this come from years and years of training myself to hide my emotions? Was I in shock? Was this my coping mechanism? 

I do know that as the years have gone on, I miss having my leg more and more each year. I guess I expected it to get easier instead of harder, but as I get older, I am more and more aware of my physical limitations, and I feel more and more trapped inside a body that won't do what I want it to.

Still, I refuse to give into the pain or to the thoughts I feel when I watch Laura dance. Am I torturing myself? No, I don't think so. I want to see her dance. I want to celebrate her ability to do so. I want her to know how much I love and support her - nothing, no feeling - is ever going to stop me from doing something as important as that.