But all that happened long before adoption was even on my radar. In fact, the next piece of the puzzle begins at that time as well, when I still planned a 'traditional' family. In the beginning this story may seem to have little to do with my adoption story, but it concerns someone who is very dear to me, and I feel every bit of it is important, so please bear with me as we walk this path.
I was 13 years old when I started Confirmation class at my Methodist church. Most children went through Confirmation in sixth grade, but I hadn't attended church regularly until late in 7th grade, so I went to Confirmation late. As such, I often felt alienated by the other students, who were two years younger than me. There was one person, though, who didn't make me feel that way, and her name was Angie, and little did I know then that she would become my best friend, and would teach me more about life, love, and hope than anyone I ever knew.
Angie and I were fast friends, as we both had a goofy sense of humor and a love for children. After confirmation, we worked together in the church nursery, and in the summer teaching Vacation Bible School. When I went to high school we started to drift apart, only for life to bring us back together two short years later.
I was sixteen, and a Junior in high school, when Angie was a freshman. I was excited to finally go to the same school as her. We would wave in the hallways, sometimes chat before class... then, sometime in November, I stopped seeing Angie around so much. I went to writer's club after school one day, and I'll never ever forget the details of this day... the girl who told me had blue hair. We sat, with our desks in a circle, reading poems and deciding which ones would go into the school literary magazine. We read one poem and then the girl with blue hair spoke up (for the life of me I don't remember what her name was, maybe I never knew). She said "I just want to ask everybody to pray for Angie, she just got diagnosed with cancer". I stopped. I looked at her. I said, "Angie? Angie Sayers? She has cancer?" The girl with blue hair nodded.
My world stopped spinning.
In that moment, I was overcome with so many emotions. Fear, at what this might mean. Regret, that I had allowed us to drift apart. Concern, for what my friend was going through. Anger, for WHY, God, WHY would you do this to Angie of all people? I had a friend in high school who used to punch walls when she was angry. That day was the first time I understood that impulse.
I sat in the hallway and sobbed. This couldn't be happening. Cancer. People die from cancer. Sure, lots of people survive, certainly Angie would be okay, she was young, she was healthy! But... cancer. And what to do now? We'd drifted apart - how could I call her and say "I know we haven't talked in a while, but hey, I heard you had cancer, what's up"? I didn't want to be that person who just turned up again because something 'interesting' happened. Instead, I was a person who realized that I had made a mistake by letting a dear friend drift away - and the harsh realities of cancer made it necessary for me to realize and rectify that mistake. On Angie's birthday, while I was babysitting, I called her. I hated calling people, it terrified me. I didn't know what to say. But I knew I couldn't *not* call her. She told me that she was doing pretty well, that she had started chemo and had just started to lose her hair. She told me that she would have an operation soon to amputate her right leg. Later I would learn more about the type of cancer Angie had, and why it was so aggressive.
After that first hard phone conversation, I saw Angie at church a couple of times. We made a video for her at Christmas, saying, if she couldn't come to church, we'd bring church to her. I started attending a Bible Study and we invited Angie to come anytime she felt like it. One night when we were in the church basement painting decorations for Vacation Bible School, Angie turned up with her friend Lauren, who I also knew from a while back. That night I remember Angie making a joke about having one leg - I can't recall exactly what it was, something about socks or something - and I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. It wasn't long before I would learn the answer - LAUGH.
Yes, laugh. Even when it seemed there was nothing to laugh about.
Angie had osteosarcoma (and don't let that cute pinky purpley picture fool you, it's a nasty, nasty disease). But it wasn't just that she had cancer, it was that her cancer was caused by a genetic defect called Li Fraumeni Syndrome. The cancer and the syndrome combined created an aggressive situation which had necessitated the removal or her right leg, above the knee. LFS meant that Angie lacked a gene that suppressed the growth of tumors - so now that she had cancer, she was even more at risk for relapse. Nevertheless, in June 2005, Lauren and I triumphantly carried a banner stating "Happy Done Chemo-Ness" and a cake into the hospital.
Angie did relapse. Many times. But in between, we lived. We attended Bible Study together every week. If it was cancelled, or even cut short, we loved to go out for ice cream. Sometimes after Bible Study, we'd go into Giant Eagle late at night for donuts, enjoying the use of the motorized carts (legitimately used... although I'm sure employees would've frowned on us hitchhiking rides on the back of them...). We laughed, and loved, and made memories that would last forever. Angie brought light to everyone who met her - even though we meant to be the ones who were strong for her.
After I graduated high school and was diagnosed with endometriosis (more about that in my next blog post... or the one after that? Hey, I'm not writing these things, I'm just the one sitting behind the keyboard. They write themselves...), Angie and I got to discussing more serious things. Her LFS meant that if she were even able to have biological children after all the surgeries and chemo she went through, she would risk passing the gene on to them, which would increase their risk for cancer. At a young age, an age at which the most serious decision most people face is whether to date the hot guy on the football team or the funny nerd in the chess club, she made the decision not to have biological children, but to adopt. My best friend Angie had a heart to adopt. And though life forced her to make that decision, she had always been, whether she knew it or not, the type of person who could have a heart to adopt - ever since those early years we bonded over providing childcare in the church nursery.
Earlier in my life, even through the first years of high school, I planned a 'traditional' family. I just couldn't wait to get married, get pregnant and have children of my own. (I now realize I have effectively scared off any single males who might have stumbled upon this blog... bye guys!) Then at 18 years old I faced a diagnosis of a fertility disorder. Suddenly I began to look at other options. I decided I'd like to become a foster parent, maybe even adopt from foster care. When Angie and I chatted, I began to mention my thought of adopting from foster care. She had always wanted to adopt twin boys, so we developed an idealistic plan in which I would provide foster care, and then some day, when twin boys crossed my doorstep and needed adopting, I'd call her, or better, just walk over (as we wanted to live side by side and raise our kids together) and she could adopt them. O for the naivety I held when we made those plans. Nevertheless, we held onto hope. Hope that she'd beat the cancer once and for all, and we could move on with our plans of adopting and raising our families together.
But just as our conversations got gradually more serious, so did Angie's condition. By Summer 2010 the cancer had metastasized to her lungs, necessitating many surgeries and more chemo (through which we visited her in the hospital and did silly things like taking pictures of the bathroom and laughing about random gross medical stuff... many times we laughed, "only us")... and finally in August a tumor in Angie's left lung threatened her heart and required the removal of the entire lung. I took off work the day before her surgery - a surgery which was incredibly risky, and we honestly all worried about whether she would make it through - and spent the day with her, swimming, eating snacks, talking about anything except the scary possibilities of the following day.
Angie made it through that surgery, and true to her spirit, she even attended classes at a local University that fall! Realizing the seriousness of the situation we were in, we made even more of an effort than ever to spend time together - whether it was just sitting together and playing Sims, chatting on AIM, watching movies, playing games, going to the accessible playground... we made so many memories. Then in November even worse news was handed down. The cancer had returned, in her remaining lung - and it was inoperable. An obscure drug that had worked in one other case similar to hers seemed to be the only hope. It was expensive and difficult to obtain, but in the way that only God can, He opened doors for her to obtain that treatment. Regardless, we were concerned that it was only a matter of time. Her family went on what we referred to as a 'Grand Adventure', traveling across several states to see family and enjoy the sights. I received postcards and souvenirs from places like Seattle and Hawaii. And while Angie didn't want to know how much 'time' the doctors said she had left, I learned during that time that they'd given her 2-3 months from the day in November that they found the new lung tumors. She was traveling for nearly all of December, so when she came home in January, we took every opportunity to spend time together.
Throughout the month of January, Angie started to get horrible migranes. She tried for so long to grin and bear it, to pretend to be okay, because we were all afraid of what news would be handed down next... but the bad turned to worse and Angie went to the hospital in unbearable pain. At that time they found multiple malignant tumors. This time there was no mincing words. The doctors said she would die within 2-3 weeks.
During this time, a number of people and organizations extended their kindness to Angie, and for this I will always be thankful. One of her dreams, to have a book published, was realized on February 15, 2011, when Illuminations was released. Another desire she'd had for a long time, to get a cat, finally happened in early March, while I was in the hospital having surgery. We'd spend days and weekends off in those times just hanging out at Angie's house. Sometimes her many medications made her doze off in the middle of a thought. That was okay - we dozed with her.
As we always used to say, even the best medical science couldn't predict the will of God, and Angie lived until July 15, 2011, when she finally went home, her pain finally gone for good.
It has now been six months and two days that she's been gone. What Angie left with me cannot be put into words. She left me with the memory of her bright, sunny spirit, always looking for a positive way to spin things, always making the best out of the worst. In the months before she died I made a sunshine ornament and hung it from the rearview mirror of my car, to remind me that Angie was always a reason to smile. She left me with so many blissful memories of friends, fun, and innocence. When I say I can't put it into words - and then I try - I find myself feeling woefully inept, because the words to describe what Angie left with me just don't exist. She saved my life. She picked me up on my darkest days, dusted me off, and made me smile - even when I was the one supposed to be supporting her. The day she died, we found a letter on her computer, left for us in a true Angie nature. I want to take an excerpt directly from that letter, for her words were always better than mine.
I don’t want you to cry forever. I want you to turn around when you’re ready and seize life with all you’ve got. I want you to remember, if anything, for my sake, that life goes on and you’re a precious part of it. I take comfort in the fact that even though I’m gone, each of you are not, and that I will always continue to live in your memories and in your hearts, because I will never have truly left you.Oh Angie. Tears stain my cheeks again writing this. No, you have not left me. Not one bit. Angie, you are in my heart. My heart for adoption could not have been prepared if not for you. I promise you now, as I promised you countless times up to the day before you died, I will live on. And I'll do all the things we always said we'd do together. It will hurt not to be able to reach out and touch you during those times, not to have your house for my kids to run over to and play, but they will know, I will know, that we have an angel... sitting up there, danging her legs off a cloud.
Dearest Angie, thank you, for instilling in me a surefire desire to adopt, for giving me somebody to talk to about it while everyone else was planning their 'traditional' families, for supporting me every single inch of the way. Thank you, for still being in my heart - my heart for adoption. Please ask God for me, and please peek down over the edge of that cloud, at the thousands of children waiting for adoption today, and hold them in your heart. Please don't forget to check up on me... because someday I'll bring my children home, and I'll tell them all about the special best friend I had for nine precious years who helped prepare me to be their mama.
Your mark will never... fade away.
Katie,
ReplyDeleteYou are so mature for your age. I'm 33 and often fear for the younger (younger than me) adults. As I advocate for my son, I sometimes meet girls your age who don't care about anyone but themselves. You give me hope!!