Meghan loves to swim. I mean, athletically it wasn’t where she started, but the knees. Six surgeries on the right knee, and there was to be no more soccer, and no more dance. After the 6th one, there was to be even no more breaststroke. There is no gym class in school. There is limited walking. There is one foot, a size bigger than the other. The “off sides” that that creates in her body can be quite painful. But, the pool…

Oh, how my girl loves the pool. She is an athlete. She is a competitor. And the pool allows her to be both of those things to the best of her ability.

For the 3rd time in the 4th year since joining swimming, this September brought a new coach for her, and a new group of teammates. There was anxiety about the switch on so many levels. But, as we always say, life has a funny way of working out.

This coach is a perfect fit for her. They practice hard, and often. He is structured, and firm. But he is compassionate, and constructive. He watches. There are sometimes 50 or more swimmers in the pool when he coaches, and I swear he does his best to make some comment to each of them every practice. And, after they compete, his feedback always connects to practice.

And practice, for Meghan, has not been a problem. While maintaining a “Pupil Path” account that no one could ever critique, and planning a major fundraiser, and looking for high schools, and managing doctors appointments, and a mom who doesn’t feel quite herself, this girl has, most weeks, attended practice, Monday, Thursday and Friday afternoon, as well as Tuesday, Friday, and Sunday morning. Quite literally, swimming is good for her health.

Swimming can be a very solitary sport. It takes a good deal of mental toughness to stare at a black line for hours. Interactions with teammates on deck or during dryland (out of water training) are cherished.

Even then, as the “new kid” in the group, you can sometimes wonder about the relationships. Meghan has been very careful not to share too much of her Cowden’s story with these swimmers. She wants to be viewed as one of them, and she is doing a good job holding her own, all by herself.

And then there was today. We were at a meet and she was scheduled to swim the 200 yard butterfly. If you swim, no explanation is needed. If you don’t let me give you a frame of reference. For the group she swam with today, 72 girls swam the 100 yard freestyle. 10 signed up to swim the 200 yard butterfly. It is not an event for the faint of heart.

Meghan feared disappointing, herself, her coach. me. She was scared out of her mind. So scared that it was out of character. Out of character for a child that has had 17 surgeries, and countless tests. ER visits, and hospitalizations. She was that scared.

And as the race approached I watched helplessly from the stands as she began to unravel. And I watched with a grateful heart as teammates picked her up and put her back together again.

The one who I can only say was acting as my angel, talked her right onto the block. It only took a second of my attempt to video the race to see that something was terribly wrong. There sat her goggles, first mid face, then in her mouth occluding her breathing. In butterfly you can not break stroke. At the end of the first 50 she stopped. She was done.

My heart sank, and ached for her. I wanted to pick her up and hug her, and take her back to the rocking chair I used to use when she was a baby. But she’s 13 now – so I could only watch.

The official came to her and asked if she wanted to try again in the next heat. There were 2 lanes open. She said yes. And as they placed her in one heat, her friend, my angel, came to the official and asked if Meghan could swim, “in the lane next to me.” She said yes, and as Meghan barely got settled on the block, another teammate flagged the official to wait a moment. Meghan’s goggles were still not on.

The start went fine this time. The goggles stayed on. And she did it. The whole thing.

By the time she got to her last 2 laps, most of the other girls were finishing. But, then there was more magic. There was cheering, from her teammates and strangers alike. There was a push for her to get finished, to press on, and to make it. So, she did.

I think I cried the last two laps. I was struck by this child of mine, her life, the adversity, and the stubbornness. The ability to not give up. The desire to be normal, and to succeed. And as she touched the wall her team mate, that same angel, swam right into her lane and gave her the biggest, most genuine hug.

She did it.

Not too shabby for the first time. And more than one teammate whom she respects greatly told her they gave her credit for getting up and trying it again. So did her coach.

Meghan isn’t the “cool” kid. She sometimes struggles a little. But, she remains true to herself at all times.

Today, she got to see the kindness in others. It was pure. It was genuine. It was unsolicited. It was the best kind.

13-18 year olds can be a tough group. But these kids showed today that when they are left at their “default” setting, when they are alone and see soemone hurting, they will choose kindness and compassion.

She is asleep. Tomorrow is another day of swimming. But, those events won’t cause this angst.

Gratitude fills my heart, that once again even at the toughest moment, good shines through.

And as she said goodnight, she told me, “Next month, when I swim the 200 fly…”

Endurance. Persistence. Stamina.

#beatingcowdens

Every year, this same week, I sit down with my calendar, and one for the following year. I carefully transfer all the important dates I need to remember. I write the birthdays, anniversaries, and other important “days to remember.” There is probably some much more high tech efficient way to do this on my iPhone, but this is a job I am not looking to simplify, or give up. I enjoy the time spent reflecting on the year that passed, and wondering what the next year will bring.

During the course of the year, around all the birthday and anniversary reminders, the basic events of life fill in the blanks. I can look back on some weeks, and months – where there doesn’t seem to be an empty box, and wonder how we got through. There are the basics, PT, swimming, dance class, music class. There are some parties, and celebrations. Around them are peppered annual exams, like the cardiologist and the eye doctor. There are some “sick” visits with the pediatrician in there too.

But last year was a “special” year. Between us there were three surgeries. Tonight as I reviewed the calendar I saw a higher than normal number of pre and post op visits. I saw consultation appointments with surgeons, and each month seemed to remind me of a surgery that was, well life changing in its own way. There were certainly a lot of firsts in 2012.

And, sadly there were some lasts too. I couldn’t bring myself not to write GGPa’s birthday on the calendar. It would have been in just a few weeks. Instead I wrote it with a heart around it. This year he will have his cake among the angels. Nor could I stop myself from remembering his and GGMa’s anniversary the same way. It didn’t feel right to leave it off. I am sure she will appreciate a call or an Email anyway.

GGPa, GGMa, Grandma, and Pop (left to right)

I remember lots of birthdays on my calendar. Some for the very young, and others for those quite senior folks I love so much. But, even as I ink those special days into 2013, I know there are no guarantees. I know that my writing their special date doesn’t ensure that we will all celebrate together. It is reality. It is sometimes tough to swallow, but we are not in control.

In Newton Connecticut many young lives were tragically altered. “Calendars” forever changed. No rhyme or reason. No notice. Gone way too soon.

I attended the wake of a colleague tonight. A 45 year old, happily married father of three. He died suddenly Christmas Day. I can not say we were “friends” outside of work, but I can tell you not a person that met this man easily forgot him. His every breath was consumed wither with song, or words of his love for his family. And tonight as I paid my respects I carried a heavy heart, and the reality again, that there are no guarantees.

Meghan was sick this morning. Sicker than I have seen her in quite some time. I was home alone, as Felix works this whole week before New Year‘s. As she lay screaming on the bathroom floor, begging me to make the pain stop, I was terrified. I called my sister to bring me Pedialyte and some essentials. We lay there for quite a long time, at points her eyes were rolling – reacting to the pain in her stomach. I held her as best I could and I prayed, hard. I needed guidance. I needed answers, and I needed that pain to be relieved. He heard me, as He always does. She vomited several times over the next hour or so, eventually ridding herself of whatever she had eaten that was bothering her. I hadn’t seen that agony since the days of the gall bladder attacks when she was three.

We had had plans today, to celebrate my grandparents 67th wedding anniversary with them. Even as the color came back into her cheeks, and the spring back into her step. we stayed home. The lunch date that was on the calendar – unattended. Our warm wishes sent with a phone call instead.

The calendar is a nice guide. A road map of sorts. It tells us where we hope to head. But, as every day reassures me – it, like life, offers no guarantees.

This week the phone will ring. Appointments will be set. A thyroid biopsy will be scheduled. A surgeon for my spleen may even get written in to the calendar as “consultation.” 2012 for us will end as it began.

Although as I tossed the calendar into the trash tonight, I couldn’t help but feel… somehow older, wiser, and even more appreciative of those who somehow come across my calendar each year.