I read a story today. It was about a little girl—a five-year-old child named Julianna Snow. Cursed with a terminal disease called Charcot-Marie-Tooth disease, she will die. From the blog written about her by her mother, it seems she is one that is blessed with so much perspective.
"It's okay. God will take care of me. He's in my heart."
Blessed with such an unbelievable perspective in the face of something so monumentally tragic...a young girl who will never live out that life. No more than five years here, and that's it. It got me thinking a lot. It almost made me cry at my desk at work today.
It makes me glad that I've done what I've done. God forbid, but if it did end tomorrow, I've accomplished a mission I set out to do a long time ago. I did what the Disney movies always taught us to do: make our dreams come true. Lambaste me for my feelings of "main character syndrome," but what I've done hasn't come easy, and I am proud of it.
The choice to do anything is so monumental. Something as simple as choosing Cinnamon Life as a breakfast selection, or choosing whether to go to the hospital for a few more weeks of living, or staying home to die with dignity, at five years of age. The pain left behind. The suffering she must endure. It's enough to make anyone's heart break.
I've been kept up at night thinking about this wheel of progress that keeps us going through life. I look back at the things that made me happy before. Air conditioning, while playing Rollercoaster Tycoon for hours during the summer. That made me happy, in a time where happiness was hard to find throughout the school year. Summer was my escape, then.
Playing Halo (the original one, mind) on my friend's couch, in his cool basement. Going on any vacation, specifically to Ocean City, Maryland, every summer. Tradition, inherent happiness. It was, in its own little way, automatic. It felt like it would never end. Nostalgia has hit hard, now that those things are no longer here.
I'll be home for Christmas, but there will be no more family vacations in the summer. I'll be home to see my friends once a year.
Though, there is reassurance.
"What we have once enjoyed, we can never lose—all that we love deeply becomes a part of us."
That is a quote from Helen Keller, whose perspective on life dictates that we never let go of what we have done. Those we met, tasks we accomplished, failures we failed, successes we succeeded upon, they are us.
I've thought about those who have moved on. Those who have left things behind to keep going. Those who have found solace in their lives, even as early as 20 years of age. Engagements. Marriages. Families. Triumph, failure, perspective, perspective, perspective.
We are lucky enough to even be here, on this earth, here today. Earlier this week, I was perhaps 20 feet away from losing it all due to someone else's mistake. I'm fortunate to be here. All of my memories, successes, failures, and perspectives, intact. They have not left me.
Someday there will be tragedy. Someday, there will be choice. Someday, there will be an end. Our existence is predicated on some sort of perpetual lashing of fate. A fulcrum of emotion. Admonishment. Destitution. But light. I won't be caught always looking at the dark side of life. I've tried so hard to find the positive.
Is it fair that a girl must be subject to the annihilation of her own self at five years of age? Certainly not. But for those who have perpetuated her message, I thank them. For that perspective has allowed me to grow further. To keep on this path that I want to continue to traverse. To write the words that I feel compelled to write.
Remember where we have come from, and know that it is you. Know that in some way, you have made an impact. And you will. Even as small and insignificant as we might seem.
