Being Strong

There are times in one's life that one must be very strong. Most of the time I think it's a woman thing, however as I get older I realize it's not exclusive to my gender. I did not know my own strength until I began infertility treatments. I further realized the strength I possess after becoming a mother. I doubt myself frequently, but at my most rational I realize there is very little I cannot handle.

2 days before my 40th birthday (and a giant party my wonderful husband threw for me) my grandmother was admitted to the hospital with gangrene in her right foot. That night she had her right leg amputated below the knee. My family was shocked, devastated. My grandmother was such a huge part of my childhood, she helped raise me. She was quite active and lots of fun when I was young. She was my age now when I was born. The years have been hard for her, however, and for the last decade or so she's been mostly sedentary and clinically depressed. I've tried to do what I can to help her. I have helped her with a yoga program, walking programs, and other forms of exercise to help get her moving. Nothing stuck. My Mom has tried to get her involved in social groups, support groups, and the like. Again nothing stuck, for long. It's really sad.

However, I must remain strong. I went to visit her and supervised her PT and OT. I sent flowers and pictures Zachary drew for her. I call multiple times a day to offer words of encouragement and support. It's so hard, though. She's not used to formal exercise at all, so it's exceptionally brutal for her to do the simplest things. Her medical prognosis is good, the reality is not so good. She's doing fine with her PT, despite her protests. What I'm afraid of is that once she gets home the depression will take over and she won't continue her exercises. Her general health isn't so poor that she will just die, she would just return to her sedentary ways and simply rot the rest of her life away. I pray desperately that won't happen.

On a much lighter note, Zachary's orientation for Kindergarten was today. It's bittersweet to see him so big. Ryan and I both went to the school with him, each holding a hand of Zachary's. He happily bounced along with us, then saw some other kids and wriggled his hands free to skip ahead with them. My chest tightened a bit. I cannot believe he starts "big" school tomorrow.

Our zoned elementary school is the best in the county, and we were fortunate enough to get the legendary Kindergarten teacher everyone wanted. All the kids in the neighborhood go to this school, and many of the kids from his preschool class are in his class. I already love his teacher (everyone said I would) and hope she won't retire before Evan is old enough to have her.

I was quite nervous today, wanting to fall apart just a little, but I kept it together for Zachary's sake. He's happy and excited, but I can tell he has a little anxiety about the "newness" of it all. I know he'll be fine, but I know his life will change forever tomorrow. It's a rite of passage, so I have to be strong. I must say, however, the situation with this school, having the right teacher and living in our neighborhood is all SO perfect. I have a strong sense of peace about it, that is when I'm not nervous as a cat. The school has what it calls a "staggered start" - tomorrow the 1st half of the alphabet will go to school, then Wednesday the 2nd half. Zachary will go tomorrow, then be off Wednesday, and all the kids will be there Thursday and Friday. Tomorrow is a big day for my little boy.