Fifteen years ago, the words of a Chicago Tribune column were put to lyric by Baz Lurhmann in his hit spoken word song, “Wear Sunscreen”. The song was based on an essay penned by Pulitzer Prize-winning columnist Mary Schmich, in which she authors a commencement speech she’s never actually been asked to deliver. Perhaps because I was nearing yet-another graduation, or maybe because- in usual Top 40 fashion - the song saturated the airwaves until we wanted to “wear earplugs”, Schmich’s piece found a permanent home in my psyche. In the decade and a half since, one particular line would periodically pop to mind, generally at a time when I needed to perform a self-check and reassess where my focus and energy was being directed:
“The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind; the kind that blindside you at 4pm on some idle Tuesday.”
And so it was, on a Tuesday afternoon that, in all honesty had been anything BUT idle, I found myself in the ER with Callen. I barely recognized the child thrashing in my arms, unable to get comfortable, sweat beading on his forehead from the fever and the constant motion. For a child of such even temper, sweet disposition, and no shortage of kind loving words, his screams of pain, his repeated requests to “make it stop” made my heart do just that.
We were about to be blindsided.
Two days (and countless blood tests, xrays, ultrasounds, procedures, specialist consultations, physical examinations, and one bone marrow biopsy) later, Jim and I sat down with the pediatric oncologist in our son’s room. Morphine had quieted Callen’s pain, and thankfully he was able to focus on something other than the conversation taking place a mere foot from his hospital bed. “It’s leukemia”, the doctor gently said. Whether from the shock or parental instinct to protect our nearby young, we said nothing. We absorbed. We didn’t react. At least not on the outside, save the circulation-stopping clench of my hand in Jim’s. In that moment, the real trouble in our life revealed itself.
In the two weeks since, there have been countless more revelations. They’ve come in the form of prayers, phone calls, text messages, emails, Facebook posts, reposts, tweets, retweets and cards too numerous to count. They’ve come as a kind word, a strong hug, a soft touch, a shared cry. They’ve been delivered as balloons, flowers, amusements, T-shirts, wristbands, errands, groceries, meals and offers of everything from a load of laundry to a sample of bone marrow.
The real blessings in our life have been revealed.
