Laughing at the Sky

By Laura Spiegel / Originally written in January 2018

I recently read a book that moved me in so many ways.  It was one of those rare ones that hooked me on page one and held me throughout.  Part of the reason was the quote that was included at the onset and reinforced throughout:

“When you realize how perfect everything is, you will tilt your head back and laugh at the sky.”

This Buddha quote speaks to me.   As the mom of a four-year-old with cystic fibrosis, some days are harder than others.  Those of you who have read my past blogs know that I have a love/hate relationship with the changing of the seasons.  A few days into this January, winter hit us hard with -25-degree wind chills and a parting shot of Influenza A.  Fortunately, we caught it very early, and the Tamiflu, while disgusting in flavor, worked like a charm.  I could hardly believe it when, just one week later, my daughter was back at her hippity hoppers dance class groovin’ to Justin Timberlake with the best of them.

In times like these, I’m reminded that so many of my daily worries are about things that I’ve never even experienced.  Take my recurring dream about tornadoes.  The one where I spot a funnel cloud looming in the distance and have to shepherd various people and pets to safety.  I have never actually seen a tornado in real life, let alone been responsible for the fates of its targets.  And yet, my subconscious routinely takes this experience on.  Over and over again.

The same is true with my daughter’s health. 

Until this month, my daughter had never had the flu. But that didn’t stop me from routinely worrying that when she did catch it, a hospitalization would surely ensue.  It did not. 

Last Fall, I worried that her friends would innocently bring their coughs and colds to the classroom and cause my daughter to be down for the count.  We are a semester in, and she’s missed just three days of school.

I realize that for many parents of little ones with CF, these worries are daily realities.  And one day, they may be for us, too.  But why am I spending hours and hours thinking about and dwelling on them when at this point in time, they are just that?  Worries.

So as the new year unfolds, my personal intention is to fight worry about the unknown with gratitude about what I do know.  I am going to spend time each day writing down the little things that have brought me joy and reminded me of the beauty of this life.  I’m two weeks in, and there have already been so many small but precious moments, like:   

·         Watching my daughter dance with Elsa to “Let it Go”

·         Pulling the kids on a frozen sled like my dad used to do

·         Attempting Zumba with both kids and zero coordination

·         Catching up with my best friend over coffee and chocolate

·         Digging into a homemade mud cake on my husband’s birthday

·         Hearing words of strength and affirmation from our pulmonologist

·         Reading a great book that reminds me, once again, how life is good

So here’s the plan.  Each time I sense a worry about the unknown rearing its ugly head, I will combat it with gratitude.  That’s not to say I’m going to glide through life with a smile on my face and caution thrown to the wind.  Lord knows I’m too high strung for that. 

I am still going to be diligent about my daughter’s self-care.  I’m just not going to dwell on things that I can’t control or that may not even come to be. 

I’m sure I’ll have my days where the “what ifs” and the “what thens” have a little more stage time than planned.  Days where I have to tell my pot to simmer itself down.  I just hope that on those days, I will be kind to myself and remember that I’m trying my best.    

So with that, I’m off.  Vest time is calling, and I have a few puzzles to make with my little one. 

My little one, who I should note, has from day one known how to laugh at the sky.