Ali's New Year's Message
Ali here…
Scars. We all have them, right? I know I do. Some you see and some you don’t, but they all tell a story.
The scar on my leg…that’s from one of the many times Andrew and I went for a ride on our electric scooters. We often explored, so that day, we set out on a new trail, one we had never been on before. We were going down an unexpectedly steep hill and I lost control of the scooter. In my shock, I didn’t think to let go of the handles. The scooter continued down the hill, dragging me behind it. Down the pavement and along a rusty guardrail. Andrew turned back, immediately, to check on me. There was blood and skin hanging off (gross!), but my brother was right there to support me. He was so concerned. He assured me that he’d be right back. He told me not to move. This was the good ol’ days, before everyone had cell phones, so Andrew quickly rode/pushed (the hill was so steep that the scooters couldn’t really make it up the hill on their own power) his scooter up the hill and raced home to get help for me. I realized that a car wouldn’t even be able to get down the hill to where I was, so I brushed myself off and hobbled my way to the top of the hill and over to the intersection where my mom, my brother and the car would save my day. The scar on my leg reminds me of that day and the love, care and concern Andrew showed towards me.
The scar on my knee…that’s from one of the many times Andrew and I played baseball. I slid and a little pebble got stuck in my knee. It left me with a little divot in my knee. The scar on my knee reminds of the great times Andrew and I had playing soccer, having a catch with a baseball/softball, throwing the football and just being together.
The scar under my jawbone…that’s from the time I had Cat Scratch Disease (sparking my fear of cats! eek!). I was 1 1/2 and we lived in North Jersey. Doctors thought I might have Leukemia, but blood tests ruled that out. Test after test, a doctor in Delaware was the only one who thought he might know what it was. He was right - Cat Scratch Disease. I had a lymph node under my jawbone drained and then they decided to go back in and just remove the lymph node completely. While I don’t remember much of the tests or surgeries, that scar I have is a battle wound. My little 18 month old self was brave and I’m proud of that brave little girl.
The scars on my heart…Well, there are many.
The scar from January 29, 2007, when my heart was sliced with the news that my brother had cancer, was sliced even further when we found out that night that his body was going into septic shock and he wasn’t expected to live through the night. You can’t prepare for something like that.
There’s a little scar from the time the doctor sat with my parents and me in Andrew’s Pediatric Intensive Care Unit room. Andrew was recovering from surgery just a few feet away from us and the doctor said that he felt Andrew would never be able to see again. You see, all my life the role I made for myself as Big Sister was to be Andrew’s protector. So, the Mama Bear in me was not fine with the doctor’s tone, demeanor, lack of faith in my younger brother - my Little Cub (who was really a good 4’’ taller than me) - and the feeling that he was giving up on Andrew. While I am often soft-spoken and reserved, I had to interject. If this doctor was going to give up on Andrew, then he could walk right out the door and we’ll find a doctor with a better attitude. Duh, didn’t he see the B+ on the door? ;) I’m a realist, so when we were in the hospital, B+, to me, meant ‘don’t be negative’. I knew that in our situation, being positive all the time was not realistic. We had horrific days. But the doom-and-gloom-land the majority of his doctors lived in was not going to fly for us. If there was a 1% chance that someone in Andrew’s situation would be able to see, this doctor needed to realize that Andrew could be that 1%. I quickly interrupted, reminded the doctor that Andrew had already defied countless odds and…I might’ve even told him that doctors don’t know everything (ok, I did actually say that). But, it’s true. No one knows everything and I have tremendous respect for people willing to admit they don’t know. The people willing to consult with someone who may have more experience in a certain area. This is only a little scar though, because I did my job. I defended my little brother and the pride I have doing that surmounts that random doctor’s lack of faith in my brother. Oh, and the doctor was wrong…Andrew did see after that.
There’s a massive scar on my heart from July 14, 2007 — the day my 16-year-old self held my 14-year-old brother, my best friend, as he took his last breath and died in my arms. Truthfully, I don’t know how my heart has continued beating. This one really isn’t even a scar, because a scar would mean that it healed over. This is a cut that keeps being reopened. Oh, it’s brutal. The last time I hugged him. The last time the four of us were ever in one place together. It replays in my mind, re-opening the wound each time.
When whatever happened to cause my scars initially occurred, there was pain. Some pain still lingers. But, each scar tells a story and that’s why I don’t want them to go away. Because vanity is such a big thing these days and what one perceives as imperfections are apparently meant to be hidden (celebrities in real life don’t look the way they do on magazine covers. Photoshop. Airbrushing. WHY. ugh.), topical creams like Mederma exist to mute the appearance of scars.
My scars tell my story. They tell the story of fun times, sad times, clumsy times and scary times. Obviously, I can’t go back and change the pain that caused them; if I could rewrite history Andrew wouldn’t have gotten sick or died and my heart scars would be lessened. Since I can’t change the past, I don’t want the scars I have to go away. They make me unique. They’re me.
So, people… In 2015, own your scars. They tell your story. For the new year, delete Photoshop! What you think are your imperfections might just be what someone loves about you. Those freckles. Those scars. Those wrinkles. If you want to be healthier FOR YOU, go for it, but don’t do it because you think you’re insufficient. Don’t do it because you think you have to. Your body type doesn’t (and shouldn’t) determine how awesome you are! If you want to try something new, do it! Cancer continuing to creep into my life constantly reminds me that life is short. This year will have ups and downs, some times may even be super high or super low. Hang on to the highs, to help you through the lows. Be present (even if it means putting the cell phone down for a bit :) ). Enjoy the seemingly little moments; those can be some of your biggest memories. And I have one last challenge for you for the New Year…it’s something my dad says in many of his talks at companies/ schools/ teams. When you lay your head on your pillow each night, ask yourself, “Did I make a difference in someone’s life today?” A smile from you might be just what that other person needed to feel like someone cares about them. To feel their worth.
One person can make a difference. Imagine our world if all of us vow to try to make a difference in 2015. I’m in…
Are you?