This young lady just stopped by to say goodbye on her way out the door to college. Isn’t it great how the hair barrette Meagan gave her for Christmas matches the scarf I got her at a thrift store?
I love accidental matchings.
As I watched Sarah’s pull her car confidently out the driveway, I breathed my four hundred millionth prayer of thanks for her, for her health, for her life, for the amazing young woman she has become.
And then my mind started to scroll back through those long ago days when hair bows were a bit more complicated than they are now. However, she still managed to sport a lacy bow, even without any hair to affix it to.
She collected a variety of fun and perky hats to wear when she was out and about. This pink one was her all time favorite.
But with all the smiles you see in the above pictures, the sorrow we experienced that first day her hair started falling out is something I will never forget.
This morning, Sarah and I were in the bathroom at the hospital getting cleaned up for the morning. As always, we were faithfully accompanied by her gargantuan IV pole with its collection of numerous wires and cords.
I was standing in front of the sink, gently brushing her hair when the moment I’d long been dreading arrived. I watched in muted horror as long strands of soft blonde hair began to fall to the floor.
I thought, “I will not cry, I will not cry, I will not cry.”
And then I cried.
I tried to keep it down to a few sniffles but Sarah heard me and asked what was wrong. I said, “Honey, do you remember when I told you the chemo treatment would make you lose your hair? Well, today it’s starting to happen.”
She began to cry too and asked, “Why does my hair have to fall out? Can a girl be pretty when she’s bald?”
Well, that question undid me. I knelt on the bathroom floor beside her and, on top of the strands of her fallen hair, we put our arms around each other and cried.
After a minute or two had passed, she suddenly stopped crying and exclaimed, “I need to hurry and get my hair cut before it all falls out. That way, we can collect it and send it to a factory so they can make wigs for sick children!”
She then matter-of-factly wiped her eyes and asked to be taken back to her bed. I left her in the room with Steve and returned to the bathroom where I spent twenty minutes crying enough tears for us both.
My mama grief continued as the hair kept disappearing.
Fortunately,Sarah got over the hair trauma pretty quickly.Here she is, “hiding” in the clothes closet in her hospital room sporting a brave smile topped by very little hair.
When we got to go home from the hospital for a few days recently, we decided to take Sarah and Nathan to a kid’s movie. I was amazed at how different everything felt to me. Steve and I have discussed that life has suddenly been divided into “before diagnosis” and “after diagnosis” categories.
Before her diagnosis, I took her laughter for granted. She has always been such a fun, merry child; her happiness was a normal part of life. But sitting beside her in the theater–after having gone through two incredibly difficult weeks of treatment with her, each smile and giggle was a beautiful treasure.
Her smiles before diagnosis were worth a penny each, they were plentiful and effortless. Her smiles after diagnosis, however, are priced beyond imagination–not just because she’s able to smile while walking a painful road but also because her smiles mirror her resilient and joyful spirit.
After the movie was over, I couldn’t help but notice the other children in the lobby–their strong, tan, legs, their shiny, healthy hair, their rosy cheeks. I thought of the year ahead for them, full of school activities, swimming, sleepovers, birthday parties, and campouts.
I then glanced over at Sarah with her awkward gait, horribly thin legs, pale face, dark-circled eyes and I thought of what her year would look like–chemo, vomiting, hair loss, little time with friends, bone marrow transplant, and lengthy hospital stays.
She happened to catch my eye right then and when she flashed me her bravest, brightest grin, I caught a picture of the strong young woman she is becoming. Although I’d rather not see her go through what is ahead, I know when she comes through on the other side, she will be changed in powerful and incredible ways.
And she’s already showing signs of the change that is coming–flashing smiles through tears and being a (cute, bald, lacey-bow festooned) poster child for on purpose joy.
Becky,
I guess I’m an old timer. I stumbled on your Caringbridge sight back in 2002, while following another child, and have been reading ever since. Makes me feel rather stalker-like, but not really. I homeschooled my kids, and found amazement that you could homeschool/sick school/survive with Sarah’s diagnosis. And a motor home was involved too, which just added more to the situation!
In all these years of reading, I’ve realized that while Steve has the designation of Minister, you and Sarah, and Nathan, also minister. You all have certainly made a difference in my life. You make me reallly pay attention to the important things. Your frequent writings are constant reminders. While they illustrate the regular struggles we all go through, your words also convey the fortitude we can muster up when life throws us really crazy curveballs. Fortitude. There’s a word I don’t use often, but as I look at the definition, and its synonyms, I think they should put Sarah’s face right there by the definition. The rest of the Smiths as well. Fortitude – courage, bravery, endurance, resilience, mettle, moral fiber, strength of mind, strength of character, strong-mindedness, backbone, spirit, grit, true grit, doughtiness, steadfastness; informal guts
I like the informal – GUTS!!!
I am truly grateful for your writings. Your sharing. None of us walk this path alone. So glad you are part of my path.
Wow, Ann! What an amazing comment and what overwhelming words to share us with Smith folks.
I don’t know if we’ve displayed any more fortitude than anyone else but I am glad that our journey has been an encouragement to you and has made a difference in your life.
After having spent thousands of hours writing millions of words since 2002, I am truly encouraged by what you said. It’s good to be reminded that what I do matters because sometimes I wonder.
And you know how much we especially value our long time readers. Thanks for sticking around for TWELVE years!
Becky,
I often write morning emails to my kids, who are now scattered across the country. Like you, I wonder if what I write matters. It does, but in my head, with sometimes a lack of replies, I just hear the echo of crickets chirping!!!
When faced with certain crummy circumstances, we can often feel so alone. I like to think we can all find that fortitude. Hearing how others plow through as well, is a comfort. When life and situations on this earth seems bleak, I like to think of many virtual hugs and prayers that are floating all around. Knowing I have that for you and your family, helps me truly feel the strength from others – especiallly in this virtual cyber world we are such a part of!!
Your words matter!!
I can’t even imagine what that might have been like for you and your family but what a blessing Sarah is to everyone who reads you! Beautiful young lady!
Lynne,
I think the best part about that terrible time in life was that it gave us so much more empathy for hurting people than we would have had otherwise. I’m grateful for that.
I really would agree about how you have allowed the pain of Sarah’s cancer transform into empathy for others who hurt Becky. Isn’t it amazing how God can take our worst hurts and grow something beautiful out of them, like being able to have genuine empathy for others as they struggle.
Jenna,
Yes, it is amazing and you are truly one of those people who God is growing something beautiful out of. Pastor Rick Warren has said, “God never wastes a hurt” and that is so true.
Lovely outfit. Color is beautiful on Sarah. She is so special and uplifting. Thanks for sharing her with us.
Ann,
Yes, that is a good color on Sarah. She and I both love our sherbet colors!
Give Sarah a hug for me …please??
Such precious sweet and sad yet precious memories; thank you for sharing them with us.
Jessica,
I will happily give her a hug.
What a remarkable daughter you have…
Kristina,
She is remarkable in some ways and other kids are remarkable in other ways. But we are certainly thankful to have the blessing of her in our lives.
Sarah, you have faced so much with such courage. You inspire me!! If you ever have any desire to come visit Canada you would always have a place to stay with us. (I really mean that). And the hair barrette/ scarf is very pretty.
Beautiful writing Becky.
We also welcome spring with a huge dump of snow this morning. Hope it turns into spring soon!!
Jenna,
Snow? On the first day of spring? Not so nice! I am looking forward to the day when you leave a comment and say that it’s sunny and in the 70’s!
First, when I read Accidental Matchings, I thought someone had matched Sarah up with a guy 😉 but then read and saw how pretty the bow and scarf matched. Wow, I can’t get through your flashback posts without tears. What a wonderful and brave little girl she was, and you too momma! So glad she is doing so well healthwise and as a college student and working too. Have a great weekend, Its snowing here again today in Northern MN, up to 3 inches we are to get. Ugh! What a joke spring played on us, oh well, this too shall pass!
Wendy,
I like your version of the accidental matching much better than mine! That would produce quite an interesting blog entry. 🙂
I’m so sorry you’re having snow yet. (or again.) Hold on. Before you know it, warm weather will sneak up on you!
Sarah certainly has come a long, long way. And always with those precious, priceless smiles. I, too, say prayers of thanks for her health and her life. Happy Friday and have a great weekend!
LeeAnne,
Precious, priceless smiles. Just a perfect way to describe it.
always wanting to help somebody else! how precious that Sarah wanted to donate her hair to make a wig….. she’s something else, isn’t she?
Mrs. Pam,
I loved the fact that she said she wanted to donate it for “sick kids.” As if she wasn’t sick herself! That made me smile through my tears.
LOVE the scarf and barrette! That’s a great color for Sarah.
I read this and realized that here’s yet another story about Sarah and her ability (gift?) to have a brief cry, then to go and put things into perspective and return to normal Sarah-ness. What an amazing person she is.
In the great scheme of cancer treatment….life hanging in the balance…loss of hair is, after all, a small thing. But I’ve always believed that when the life of someone we love is in and life or death fight, we can’t handle it all, so we find some small issue (hair loss, change in facial expressions after having 1/4 of his face removed and reconstructed, etc.) that we CAN handle and cry over.
I hope that makes sense. Of course losing her hair is a HUGE deal to a little girl. Of course having your facial appearance changed is a huge deal to a salesman. But compared to possible loss of life?
I don’t know why this came up as from Anonymous. That’s what I get for trying to do anything before coffee. It was me!
Jan, AKA Anonymous, 🙂
There is a lot of wisdom in your words and yes, they made perfect sense.
When people are up against incredible difficulty, the ways they express their grief (and the things they express their grief over) vary widely. But as you said, it ALL fades into the background when compared with the loss of life.