Bittersweet - as painful as it is pleasant

Maddi's second day.

Life is bittersweet.



We fall in love. We bring new lives into this world and watch them grow. We pursue happiness. We treat ourselves to good food. We achieve knowledge and work to better our communities. We travel to foreign places or places we know well. We meet people who impact us without ever knowing it.

Then it comes to an end. Vacations don't last forever. Kids grow up. Jobs come and go. People fall out of love or lose track of each other. New lives brought into our world aren't what we expected. A loved one is lost, forever.

My grandfather Alan died yesterday. My grandmother was diagnosed with brain cancer two weeks ago. My daughter was born with Down syndrome three months ago.

I'm numb.

Since when did someone think that I could handle all this at once? I look back on two of my recent blog posts - first the Bible's Corinthians passage that says you are given what you can handle. I'm calling BS on that one - at least for now.

The other is the Dr. Seuss quote - "don't cry because it's over, be glad it ever happened." OK. I feel good about this one. My grandfather just turned 94. He lived an incredible life of accomplishment - both in his profession and family. He implemented formulaic approaches to predicting stock trends and helped clients achieve their goals.

Grandpa Alan with cousin Abby

He lived. He loved. He imparted wisdom and grace to all those he met.

 

The moments we spent were mostly around the dinner table listening to lore of the old days. His father was an early co-founder of CBS but later achieved success in other professions as his father had a small falling out with the other founders. Many years later, Grandpa Alan attended a CBS shareholder meeting and made an infamous ruckus about the split between the co-founders. Alan went on to become a stock broker for a boutique firm.

While not the salesman, he had other qualities. Genius qualities. He used newly researched formulas to chart stock activity, such as trade volume, to predict future activity. It was innovative; he was modest.

How sweet it is that my life included him. How bitter are my feelings that he has departed.

Four generations at Salty's on the River

My grandmother has brain cancer. There, I said it. And I hate it. My best friend, my mentor, my fashion consultant - she is unhealthy and it hurts. What happened? How did life take turn after turn in these last few months? The side effects of grandma's condition impact her memory. So I wrote a few things down.



Remember this:

• Taste-testing Sundae desserts throughout Scandinavia
• Attending Maddi's first ballet recital
• Making fruit parfaits (that as we got older turned into fruit smoothies)
• Maternity shopping in San Francisco
• Sipping champagne in the hot tub in Carmel on our "college tour"
• Letting me drive your Jag after your eye appointment when I was 14
• Talking on the phone every morning when I drove from Boulder to Denver to work at the AP
• Decorating my first apartment in Boulder in a blizzard
• Continuing to shop on Pearl Street in Boulder despite tornado and thunderstorm sirens and ugly, dark clouds. We thought taking shelter inside the stores was pretty clever.

How sweet it is that we shared these moments. How bitter it is that you do not feel well.


Lizzie's arrival. And our joy!



My second daughter has Downs syndrome. The day she was born, I interpreted it as a death sentence. I knew nothing about Downs. Would she talk? Would she walk? How limiting would this diagnosis be? Why me? Why my daughter?

 

I know why now. Because I like adventure. I don't do ordinary. This is actually an opportunity. I've hiked 14K mountains in Colorado, run the Honolulu marathon, watched the Tour De France from Alp D'Huez, entered Kosovo during the 1999 war to be a reporter, stayed out all night in New York City until we saw the paper delivery trucks, backpacked in Europe alone, spent New Years on the Charles Bridge with my husband.

Lizzie is an adventure. She's an opportunity.

How sweet are her smiles, coos and cuddles. The triumph is so significant when she lifts her head or rolls over. Each milestone will be an adventure. Each missed milestone will bring pain, though. What happens if she struggles with speech? What about the people who don't accept her because she is different?

How sweet it is that I have this opportunity. How bitter it is that others may not see it the same way.