Second Chances

Yesterday I wrote a blog, I called it weighed down.  I didn't publish it even though it's exactly how I feel.  It talked about how life is measured in weights.  Your born, you are weighed, and oddly judged on that weight, big baby, tiny baby.  Society spends millions of dollars on the weight loss battle, aiming it all towards the battle of the bulge due to over indulgence.   But what about those who can't?  Simply can't, for whatever reason, exercise?  We never think of those people, we just think people are fat because they can't put the fork down.  Well, as I begin to get out of the house a little more and walking has become a far easier task.  I think about all those people, because I'm one of them.  It will be 7 months tomorrow and I'm just starting to feel myself.  I thought I was there a few months back, but a stint of thinking I was super women, had me over doing it.   Dumb thing to do, and now I realize that it's slow and steady that truly wins the recovery race.  This all weighed heavily on my mind...just another form of weight.

So as I whined yesterday and felt overly sad for myself,  I vowed to wake up a little different.  Today I thought about what I'm truly thankful for and the first thing that came to mind is second chances.  I've been given many in my life, so many that I was surprised when I started to think about them.

Growing up in a house of abuse my first memory of a second chance is travelling home in the back seat from the Portage Hotel.  No one was in any state to drive as we barreled back to our house in Stark's Corner.  I was the tender age of 8, my sister 12.  We were sleeping in the van because that's what drinking parents did with their kids, left them there to sleep as they chugged back a few.  I remember the engine's high pitch whine and the feeling of my stomach in my throat as we flew over the hills.  My Mother reaching back with her hand to protect us like an imaginary seat belt.  I remember clearly praying to get us home safe.  A second chance was indeed granted.

Sometimes we don't get second chances as this same road claimed a dear family member many years later, nothing to do with speed or alcohol.  Just bad timing.  I said goodbye to a casket, regrets of not enough visits home, not enough phone calls, now realizing that there aren't always second chances.

Becoming a ward of the court and becoming a foster child was certainly a second chance.  Foster parents and foster siblings who actually cared.  Trusted me enough to go out and cared if I came home.  Food, glorious, delicious food.  Meals around the table like a family.  A packed school lunch.  A shower, running water, a toilet.  A different outlook on life is before me. There is love in this house, I feel at home. Yes this indeed was a second chance.  I am blessed and I know it at the age of 15.  A second chance at life.

My daughter was born with immune system issues.  At the age of 9 she was hospitalized with H1N1, the Swine Flu had found her, despite all my efforts to try and keep her away from it. Fourteen days in hospital contained some of the scariest days of my life.  All I could do was pray as I, like everyone else, had no idea what this virus was capable of.  The insertion of a chest tube is what saved her life.  I am convinced of that, as litres of fluid poured from her tiny plural space.  I honestly don't know if I should look at this experience as my second chance with her or her second chance at life.  Either way, I know how precious life is as we don't always win the fight.

And then there's me, with this whole brain tumour thing.  Someday's when I say it out loud I still can't believe I have a tumour, add brain surgery to that and it becomes almost "movie" like.  I guess I've been given one more second chance.  A chance to live life, even though it's very different then pre-surgery.  I'm here to tell about it and that's pretty fantastic.  I love my second chances...each and every one.