 John and I hosted cookouts for the five of us in our immediate family, plus a boyfriend or girlfriend. Sometimes, Scrabble games followed that Ben almost always won. We teased Beth about choosing a law school in California, as far across the country as she could get from us in Boston! Especially since she influenced most of our migrations from Ohio.
Beth reassured us, laughing, that she’d be back on the East Coast after graduating from Stanford. I cooked my first big turkey dinner after 50 years of traveling to Thanksgiving feasts in Ohio. My mom and grandma had cooked for crowds and timed everything perfectly, with the turkey carved and the potatoes mashed just minutes before we ate. I had roasted a turkey before but not with all the extra side dishes. My first attempt resulted in dry turkey and lumpy gravy. The pumpkin pies I made from my great-grandma’s recipe didn’t last long. In December, Beth’s boss asked her to attend Harvard's Health System Research Agenda Workshop with him in Cambridge. Late in the evening of the third, Beth sent me an email: OMG. Bill Gates was at my meeting. Then at dinner, I sat by a lovely French man who is the head of the World Economic Fund. He asked ME about my research and said I was helpful! So I’m having an existential night. I need to figure out what I want to do with my life because anything is possible. Love from your daughter, who has a big head tonight and danced alone on the T with her iPod. Next: November's Serendipity Newsletter!
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 In mid-December, my oldest daughter packed a suitcase for her flight to Boston after her last day of student teaching in Tiffin, Ohio. Maria had applied for teaching jobs and followed up with direct phone calls to ask for an interview. Her assertiveness, a skill I struggled with, landed her an interview in Cambridge.
Maria flew by herself for the first time into Logan airport. She slept on a futon chair in Beth’s dorm room and rode the subway by herself to the interview. Maria tapped into her passion for teaching children with disabilities. After, the sisters met for dinner at Bertucci’s in Harvard Square before they flew home together. A few days later, Maria accepted the job as a lead teacher in the Cambridge Public Schools’ Special Start program for preschoolers with a disability. The position would begin in a few weeks, in early January. I was proud of her and excited for her, though I also would miss her. Maria had decided to be a teacher when she was a preschooler. At her first library story hour with no parents, the librarian told me how Maria found her way onto the storyteller’s lap. At home, her little sister Beth was her student. In grade school, Maria loved to help in her dad’s classroom during summer school. Maria declared that we would live together forever in our Tiffin home, happily-ever-after. A decade later, she planned her move to Boston while John and I prepared to sell the only home our kids had known. Our last Christmas living in Ohio embraced nostalgia. We watched The Princess Bride, again, and made popcorn. We played N’Sync Christmas music while we wrapped presents. Ben visited, and we laughed at old videos the girls called “baby tapes.” One of our favorites showed Ben, 5, pulling his little sisters on a blanket around the dining room table. A giggle fest. The video captured a perfect silly afternoon. At the Vermilion farmhouse for Christmas, we connected with extended family and met new babies. Beth rang in the New Year with her best friends, Lizzy and Ellen, for the last time. It was a recap of fondue and favorite movies, including Elf and the Grinch. They still laughed so easily. I admired the young women they’d become. Next: A New Beginning! (This blog tells my family's story. To see more, click "blog" at the top of this webpage.) After my morning job at the Quad, I headed to Harvard Square, a canvas bag always on my shoulder with a writing project and a book. Bright holiday music surrounded pedestrians and sometimes competed with a street performer braving the cold. Glitter and garlands hung over the streets, while store windows beckoned with cozy scenes of home and hearth. Christmas in the city. The Coop competed with the Square with lavish decorations and elaborate displays in every department. My second shift usually passed quickly between standing at a cash register and folding endless sweatshirts. I stood in a long line at the Coop time clock before walking home in the dark. The significant number of pedestrians on the sidewalks late at night continued to amaze me. In my sparse little bedroom, I opened my sewing bag and stitched lace on wings of felt peace doves to give to work friends. On my day off, Beth and I sang along with the performers at the annual Christmas Revels at Harvard’s Sanders Theatre, a beautiful rounded space with a dome ceiling made of natural wood. First semester classes finished for Beth, with finals to be held after a two-week reading period in January. She packed several textbooks and novels before we drove home to Ohio for the holiday break. John Mayer and others sang to us from the music mixes Beth made. Notably missing on the drive was her N’Sync Christmas CD. At home we played it on repeat. We watched favorite holiday movies with Maria. John suggested a dinner date. My best gift: Ben home from college and all of us together. I accepted an invitation to the Christmas party at the group home where I had worked. Not surprised that little had changed, I hugged the residents. And left later with relief and no regrets. At my mom and dad’s farmhouse in Vermilion, a tall live tree with handmade ornaments lit up the high ceilings and long windows of the parlor, as it had every December for well over a hundred years. Ben, Maria, and Beth gathered in front of the tree with their four cousins for the traditional holiday photo. I stood in the same spot many years earlier with my brother, sister, and cousins. At my in-laws in Lorain, John pretended to steal presents from his sister Jean to make her smile. She counted down the days until her January birthday. Beth rang in the New Year as she had for the last five years, with her best friends Ellen and Lizzy. They watched the Elf movie and shared college stories. Her friends also made plans to visit Beth at Harvard for the first time, over their spring break. I loved how the girls continued their New Year's Eve tradition of fondue, movies, and easy laughter. Next: First Harvard Swim Meet!  (This blog tells my family's story. To see more, click "blog" at the top of this webpage.) Many community festivals in Harvard Square attracted overflowing crowds that spilled into and closed the streets. The HONK! Parade during Oktoberfest was unlike anything I had seen. Think Dr. Seuss with brass horns, stilts, unicycles, and bikes! The event attracted costumed brass bands from around the country and the world. Not long after, I worked at the Coop during the Head of the Charles Regatta, the world’s largest two-day rowing event. With too many bodies in Harvard Square on a normal day, the regatta tipped the crowd to a crazy level and swamped the stores. At the end of my work shift, exhausted, I gladly left the colossal mess of clothes behind. It required several days to restock and put the displays back in order. On October 27th, Boston’s Red Sox won the World Series for the first time in eighty-six years. Harvard students replaced the pumpkin on the head of the John Harvard statue with a Red Sox stocking cap and scarf. In Harvard Square, students and locals joined together for a party. Beth braved the crowd for a short while, as people danced on the roof of the Harvard T stop. She returned to her dorm to study while the loud celebration continued. John teased and called Beth a lucky charm, since she moved to the area right before the big win. Maria and Ben traveled to Boston for the first time with John to join Beth and me for Thanksgiving weekend and the holiday dinner at Legal Seafood. I bought tickets for The Lion King, on tour from Broadway. A work of genius in every way, from the set to the costumes. And, of course, we also had to see the fourth Harry Potter movie The Goblet of Fire, before we hugged goodbye too soon. Beth’s ventures continued to impact family and friends in unexpected ways. Soon after her Boston trip, Maria shared her big life-changing decision with us. A college sophomore, she planned to graduate with a double major from Heidelberg in Ohio—and when she did, she would move near Beth to teach. I supported her decision, though it made me sad to think of both of my girls in Massachusetts in the future, more than 700 miles away from John and me in our Tiffin hometown. I understood the draw of the Cambridge area. I had never been in another city as vibrant. A place that charmed with old-world history and diverse humanity, all the while assaulting the senses with too many emergency vehicles, taxis, cars, and bikes. A place that also isolated and challenged me every day for the nine months I lived there. Next: A Third Job!  (This blog tells my family's story. To see more, click "blog" at the top of this webpage.) The annual New Year’s Eve bash with Ellen and Lizzy involved more fondue and more treats. How easily the seventeen-year-olds laughed while watching the Grinch movie. Listening to them, there was no way of knowing that one of them had a severe physical disability. John and I toasted the New Year with gratitude and discussed how Beth’s injury had never been a tragedy—for her. We believed she had a better than average chance to contribute and be happy. My disability-related worries looped through the days. They could be condensed down to health risks and one big question: What kind of welcome would a young quad receive from a superficial world? I bought Beth a Harvard sweatshirt online for a Christmas gift. When she wore it to school in January, her classmates and teachers found out about her college choice, if they asked. Beth asked to attend Harvard’s admitted students weekend, even though she had already accepted. I agreed and scheduled meetings at the Harvard disability services office to figure out exactly how it would work. I had already booked flights to Minneapolis for the US Paralympic Trials in April, so I changed our flights home from Trials to take us directly to Boston for the Harvard weekend. Beth’s senior spring filled up our calendar with exciting trips and important events. As the end of the high school swim season approached, Peggy adjusted the specifics of training over weeks to promote fast times at the final meets. (‘Tapering’ workouts.) The girls stopped shaving their legs. Some practices added ankle weights. One evening at the YMCA, Beth wore street clothes and shoes in the water along with the rest of the team. Then, the night before the Sectional Championship Meet, the girls shaved their legs. The boys on the team chose to shave their heads in solidarity. All of this was new to us, as well as the excitement to follow. Next: District Championships!  (This blog tells my family's story. To see more, click "blog" at the top of this webpage.) John drove Beth to and from high school swim practices on the evenings I worked at the group home. Ohio's winter weather froze the streets--and wheelchair wheels. Beth insisted on wearing her favorite red flip-flops to practice. They stayed in place with an elastic strap I sewed on. She plowed her manual chair through light snow. Responding to questions about her footwear, she replied with a smile that she couldn’t feel her feet. If pressed, Beth also mentioned the very short distance from the YMCA entrance to the car and from the car garage to the house. Going anywhere else in icy conditions, she wore shoes or boots. With no socks. Despite several different kinds I bought for her to try. Beth survived her healthy teenage stubborn streak, without frostbite, by limiting her time outdoors in the winter. December blurred with my added responsibilities at the group home. We passed the state inspection with flying colors, only because I put in volunteer hours. The four men planned with me to host a Christmas party for their family and friends. It was a big deal for them, a first for the group home. Beth visited ahead of time to help us make cookies for the event. It made me happy to see how much the residents loved the well-attended party. I bought college choir CDs from Ben's and Maria’s holiday concerts and played them continuously in the car. At the Christmas party in Toledo for the spinal cord injury group, a mom thanked Beth for encouraging her young son to start swimming lessons. His scoliosis stopped progressing, avoiding major surgery. The doctor credited swimming for his stronger back muscles. At the first home meet of the season for the high school team, Beth swam the 100 butterfly in under four minutes. Her time qualified for a US Paralympics S3 American Record. However, it didn’t count because the meet had not been sanctioned ahead of time with USA Swimming. “Beth just keeps improving with every meet,” Peggy said. ”It's awesome to watch her strokes and racing ability move forward.” A picture in the Tiffin newspaper showed teammates at the end of the lane cheering Beth on as she turned at the wall. Lizzy and Ellen shouted from the bleachers. “It's fun climbing out of the pool and hearing people clapping for you,” Beth said. “It gives you a little boost of confidence.”   (This blog tells my family's story. To see more, click "blog" at the top of this webpage.)
Beth had another sleepover on New Year’s Eve with her best friends and a fondue feast at our house. Soon after, Dr. Miller asked Beth if she would exchange emails with a new quad, and I talked to an overwhelmed mom on the phone. I listened but shared little, only how everything had changed in comparison to the initial month and how I hoped for more progress. I was sure that I wasn't a good role model for other parents. The New Year and the time beyond seemed impossibly uncertain. My concerns encompassed the global and the trivial. I was an equal opportunity worrier. Since 9/11, terrorism and nuclear weapons found their way into my nightmares. Any number of potential health problems threatened Beth—and everyone I loved. When she ventured out into the world as an adult, what kind of welcome would she find as a quad? As a toddler, she was Cinderella to Maria's Snow White. Would they find their happily ever afters? At a meeting in Toledo, Beth registered for the wheelchair games in May with the Raptors. She thought that she wasn’t good enough to sign up for the pool events, but others convinced her to try. Some of her friends also shared their earlier trips to another sports event, the National Junior Disability Championships, held every summer for kids from across the country. In February, Beth elected to have an eight-hour bladder surgery, paving the way for independence. As a result, I would no longer need to be with her every few hours. A week after she left the hospital, against my advice, she agreed to help Laraine with a new class of physical therapy students. Beth wore loose clothes to cover the temporary tubes from the surgery that protruded from her abdomen along with a small rubber bulb. Laraine teased about going easy on her during the mat exercises. When Beth sat with her hands in her lap, she wobbled less than she had at the last demonstration. Careful with the tubes, Laraine refrained from pushing hard to test her balance. Beth also shared her ponytail progress with the students, but she still couldn't complete an additional loop of the elastic to keep it in place. Not yet. At the followup appointment with the urologist, he removed all the tubes and the bulb for good, leaving bare skin and a long surgery scar below her belly button. We celebrated with a shopping trip. She had fun picking out cute underwear and a bikini swimsuit. Beth was disappointed with the doctor’s ban on swimming for six more weeks as she healed from the major surgery, not negotiable. And her first swim meet ever was just ahead.  (This blog tells my family's story. To see more, click "blog" at the top of this webpage.)
When snow started to fall in Ohio, I pulled my sewing bag out of the closet. I made my favorite peace doves out of felt with embroidered accents and lacy wings for Laraine, Jill, and the other therapists at Green Springs, part of our extended family. I loved how they loved Beth. I mailed Christmas cards decorated with doves, wishing for peace. For the world, for our country, and for me. John drove with Beth, Maria, and me to Toledo for the holiday party of the spinal cord injury group. Talking to other parents, I could answer the sad question of who was to blame for the car accident that injured Beth, and without crying. Progress of sorts after a year and a half. Though my guilt was still alive and well, and I quickly steered conversations away from the accident. I talked to other quads, some with serious health issues that increased my sense of foreboding. I wanted to be positive and optimistic, but I couldn’t find the way. John was in his element. He started conversations and listened to the journeys that others had traveled—and shared our family’s story. We teased him that everyone in Ohio knew about Beth’s injury. John often said that everyone has a story. Maria and Beth sat at the cool kids table with the teenagers while the younger children watched them. I heard part of a conversation about the first Harry Potter movie, The Philosopher’s Stone, in theaters since before Thanksgiving. Most of the teenagers had seen it more than once, including my girls. After our goodbyes at the party, I was relieved when Beth dosed off in the car, avoiding her anxiety about driving in the dark. Her worries were specific and situational, such as tornado warnings and the low gas indicator in the car. Maria already had a driver’s license, so one clear Saturday afternoon, my girls went shopping at the Findlay mall. On the way home, Beth noticed the low gas indicator turn on as they entered a fifteen-minute stretch with no gas stations. She wanted to turn around and go back to the closest station. Maria tried to reason with her, unsuccessfully, and they both arrived home frustrated. Thankfully, the conflict was soon forgotten. It was beginning to look a lot like Christmas—as it had been before the accident. It was easier to hold brief conversations with other parents after the holiday choir concert, always a lovely highlight of the season for me. When my kids were little, we read about Christmas traditions and their origins. Favorite songs, decorating the house and tree, making special food and cookies, playing card games, watching movies with popcorn, wrapping gifts, and making new memories to add to many lovely ones at my family's farmhouse. Sitting around the big dining room table at the farmhouse, I missed my grandma and grandpa, reminded how life can change in a moment. All the more reason to hug loved ones close. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to you and yours!  (This blog tells my family's story. To see more, click "blog" at the top of this webpage.)
Seven weary months had passed since Beth’s injury. My favorite time of year, Christmas, was a blur. Ben came home from college and together our family of five visited grandparents, aunts, uncles, sisters, brothers, and cousins on the Lake Erie shore. When my Grandma Henning passed away, my parents moved from Lorain to the family homestead in Vermilion. Built by my great-grandfather, the old farmhouse never failed to invoke broad chords of memory along with tinges of sadness for my grandma’s absence. As a child, I was there every Sunday with my brother and sister and cousins, and parents and aunts and uncles. It was the place where I watched Grandma make sweet kuchen and grape jam (with the skins) and every kind of deliciousness. The place where I blew out birthday candles and found a four leaf clover that I pressed in my diary. The farmhouse also was a place that was inaccessible in every possible way, with the stone driveway, entry steps, and tiny bathroom that didn’t fit a small wheelchair. Beth didn’t mind. Ben and Maria handled the steps with the wheelchair. At the house in Lorain where my in-laws lived, also inaccessible, John’s oldest sister Jean greeted us at the door. She liked Beth’s wheelchair and wanted one of her own. Jean, born with Down syndrome, counted down the days to every family birthday and holiday. She knew that her January birthday was before John’s in February, so every Christmas, he teased her that his birthday was next. When we arrived back in Tiffin, Timber welcomed us home. I had photographs printed at a local store from the holidays. My smile in some of the photos contradicted my feelings, but not my goal. I focused on not giving the people I loved more to worry about, especially after I accomplished that spectacularly well with the accident. One of Beth’s presents was a molded piece of plastic that sat on the table in front of her and held playing cards in a vertical position. John and I played bridge with Ben and Beth using new bigger cards and the plastic piece. By the end of the evening, she put the plastic to the side and experimented. When she held the cards in her right hand with the tenodesis grip, she raised up a specific card with her lips. Then, she used her one moving finger to set the card on the table or adjust her grip. As Beth’s best friends arrived for New Year’s Eve at our house, we made a mess in the kitchen with my grandma’s brownie recipe. Beth christened her new fondue set with chocolate and an elaborate spread that included brownies, marshmallows, pretzels, and fresh fruit. The girls camped out in sleeping bags and watched the new Grinch movie, played with Timber, and dipped treats in chocolate. I listened to their easy, carefree laughter. For me, the New Year loomed with brewing threats, with emergencies and tragedies a heartbeat away. |
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