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I came to a realization over Thanksgiving—every November, like clockwork, my daughter gets really sick. This year, it was a case of bronchitis that kept her out of school for a week, but cleared up just in time for the holiday. Last year, a bad cold and subsequent infection had us in the emergency room at the local hospital for about four hours on Thanksgiving Day (I still managed to pull off the turkey in time for guests!).
The year before, it was a case of swine flu. That was the year I wrote this:
"At 13—and sometimes, sadly, at 30 and 40—we're so busy thinking about all the ways our bodies don't measure up to whatever standard we hold in our heads as ‘perfect' that we sometimes fail to appreciate the simple pleasure and value of good health.
Normally, I'm the kind of mom who'll talk about anything, and I don't typically shy away from tough or embarrassing topics when talking to my kids. I'm a firm believer that knowledge is power, and that being truthful is the best course of action. But last week, I hid something from my daughter.
The night before my daughter got really sick, a healthy, athletic 12-year-old girl in the next town over died from the swine flu virus. The next morning, I took the front page of the newspaper with that girl's story and picture splashed across it, and hid it in the stack of recycling.
But later that morning, as I was making her cocoa in the kitchen and she lay on the couch watching the TODAY show, I heard the local newscaster break in with a report on the little girl. Two seconds later, I heard my daughter's feet on the floor and when I turned around, there she stood, tears on her face and absolute terror in her eyes.
I hugged her, and just kept saying, ‘It's OK. You're OK,' over and over again.'
There's an ending of innocence that comes when you realize that people your age can, and do, die. I fear I watched that moment happen in my kitchen last week."
Good health is one of those things that we don't always think about or appreciate until we no longer have it. But on Thursday afternoon, as we drove from one holiday gathering to our next stop, we passed the cemetery where just one year ago, I attended the funeral of a friend who lost her battle with cancer at way too young an age. And I was reminded once again that in the end, it doesn't matter what size my jeans are or whether I can pinch extra skin in places where I once couldn't. What matters is that I'm here, able to enjoy a day with friends and family. What matters is that my child is healthy and able to recover from illness.
I'm grateful.
