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Little miracles

on February 25, 2012

Taking showers. Going for a run. Enjoying my favorite meal with an abundant appetite. Sleeping in my bed, in any position I choose. Going to work/school/social activities as I please. Having a comfortable full night’s rest. Hitting the gym. Fending for myself without thinking twice.

I can’t help but appreciate all of these ‘luxuries’ — also known as everyday activities — that are at my disposal. Yet, Mitchell’s current reality is far from mine.

  • He can’t hop under hot water for a full body cleanse — the catheter healing for dialysis treatments to begin soon doesn’t permit a traditional shower for one whole month.
  • Devouring a delicious dinner to his heart’s desire isn’t necessarily possible. The countless medications, procedure side effects, and unpredictability in appetite on any given day — make the basic function of eating an indefinite: TBD.
  • Slipping into an eight-hour sleep, in the comfort of his bed, is a distance memory. Instead, the sofa chair is his place of rest; usually his Mother is within arm’s reach.

Every single morning I start my prayers by thanking God for blessings — the simple ones — my five senses, my working limbs, my mental, emotional & physical health, my education and employment. Access to clean, running water.

These days, Mitchell inevitably pops into my mind at some point during the dialogue of gratitude, and I think how lucky I am to have it pretty darn easy.

As I’m slowly starting to understand the daily grind of Mitchell’s life, it forces me to reflect on how effortless it is to take common, expected ‘luxuries’ for granted.

The people closest to him never speak his name without commenting on Mitchell’s resiliency and quiet strength. “He never complains, ever” — which makes me think he isn’t human. How could someone in his condition not peep a problem? But the thing is, he is human, a very special human who accepts his uphill road with a grandiose amount of grace.

Because my Monday through Friday appears vastly easier than his, the moment his Mother mentioned how much Mitchell enjoys watching VCU {the local university} basketball games, I knew he had to attend one, stat. For one, the last game of the season was only a few days away. Additionally…he hasn’t been able to snag tickets because every single home game is sold out, due to the rise in popularity from last season’s Final Four run. Now all we needed was a little magic.

With a few strokes of the keyboard & putting a call out to the masses, a kind soul named Cindy offered to secure two tickets for the fan and a guest {by default, Mitchell’s Mom selflessly selected his Dad} — courtesy of the Associate Coach Mike Rhoades who is a friend of a friend. Then another kind soul who came across my call-for-action, Tom, stepped up to the plate with the equivalent of a big black and yellow bow.

He said, “My Mom works at the hospital transplant unit, I think she knows Mitchell. She’d like to help do something special.” Twenty-four hours later he rang my phone to announce, “She made some phone calls and arranged to have Mitchell meet the VCU basketball team before the game. We’re also getting a ball signed with the players’ signatures.” To top it off, VCU managed to get his Mom a ticket too, so now the whole family can be together.

My wish is that tonight, if even for a few minutes or a few hours, Mitchell is able to enjoy himself and not focus on his body’s fight over the last decade. He can act his age, have fun cheering on a live sports game, and make memories that he actually wants to remember.

Life is stuffed with light & love. And if you pay close enough attention, little miracles.

Much love,

Mary Beth

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