Tuesday, August 17

Vanilla Ice, American Idol and other meaningless crap

So, I find myself a little embarassed by my giddiness over the Legends of Hip Hop at the Iowa State Fair. My once gushy junior high-type groupiness is more than a little overshadowed with my daughter's illness. She was to be the one to share her excitement and attend the free concert with me (as in "Yes, mom, I will go because I know you want to. I could care less.")

Now, what to do about the much anticipated (by both of us-for real) American Idols Tour next week at the Well? She says Please go, Mother. You've looked forward to it for so long. But everytime I clap for Crystal won't I be thinking of how Andy would have loved to hear her? Will I feel guilty like I am somehow taking pleasure from my daughter's pain? Should I sell the cherished tickets and feel like a traitor? Should I stay at the hospital and play the role of martyr then regret missing out on a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to see a favorite Idol?

Andy's incision from left temporal lobe

craneotomy with resection and biopsy.
The very best ultimate possible option would be that this is all some kind of a freaking evil nightmare. But, the fluid slowly dripping through the pastic tubes to the sound of beeping machines makes it real. The bunched-up incision on her shaved scalp smacks
of reality. Nothing dream like in Room 667.

Strange how my little girl is still my little girl. She might be 30 years old and trains men twice her size in weapons and field training but I still wish I could go back to a simpler time and just cradle her in my arms and rock and sing a lullaby as she drifts off to sweet dreams. Sorry Taylor but this day ain't no frickin' fairy tale. It's more like a horror film. Hey, I am entitled to a pity party or two.

So I guess I will say a prayer, listen to a Bowersox favorite of ours, Up to the Mountain and sit by her side in room 667 and wait and wait . . .

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Holding on to photographs and fairy tales

Grandma Marge shows off her modern coffee percolator while Deb (left) and I hold the dolls we got for Christmas. When it’s time ...