Mikey never guessed fatherhood was one of his destinies to be fulfilled. He was diagnosed with a medical condition in his early twenties, which required a form of chemotherapy treatment to help him heal. This was a decade before we met.
At the time, his doctor told him to put some of his “boys” on ice just in case he wanted to have kids one day. When I became pregnant, saying we were shocked is putting it mildly—I was on the pill too. You know that little disclaimer about using backup contraception if you’re on antibiotics? Well, it wasn’t there back in 2002.
And thank heavens it wasn’t.
To think one simple sentence could’ve changed the course of our lives would’ve surprised me 130 days. Now, I know how one split-second can change a life forever.
The change that happened on August 7th sucked.
The one that occurred on one day in July of 2002—that was one of the best things that ever happened to both me and Mikey.
Are you listening to mommy Isabella? One day, if you’re reading this when you grow up, I want to remind you that YOU are special.
YOU were our miracle.
YOU were our gift.
YOU coming into our lives was the most defining moment in daddy’s life.
Loving you helped daddy realize his full potential as a person. You opened his heart in ways I never could’ve. The love a father and daughter share is a bond that death can never take away.
Today, Isabella and I had to relive the day Mikey died. In watching her talk about the events of the day, and answering her questions, I learned something too—confronting the fear takes away its power. Yes, sadness will take its place, but the fear cannot rule you anymore.
My fears have been many. The last few days I’ve been forgetful. When I opened the pantry tonight to get some chocolate for a recipe, I couldn’t remember where I placed it. This may not sound like a big deal, but it lead to me to start thinking I had a brain tumor and only months to live.
Maybe I’m being dramatic, but forgetting where something I use everyday was stored, unnerved me. It’s all about a sense of control these days. The truth is, sleep is something that doesn’t come easy this last week. As the holidays draw closer I miss Mikey so much.
I do my best to harness happiness every step of the way, but the quiet nights are not easy. So I retreat to the kitchen and bake at 10:00pm. Tonight I realized I need to confront my fear.
Sharing new recipes with you doesn’t make his death permanent. A disease that affects one in a million—literally, is what ripped him from our lives.
One in a fucking million! (pretend you didn’t see that if you’re still reading Isabella)
My husband had to be the one millionth person in line for Good Pasture’s Syndrome?
Are you kidding me?
Tonight I’m giving fear the middle finger. You won’t own me.
Tonight I’m going to soak my pillow with tears.
Tonight I will let the sadness take hold, and hope as I always do that Mikey will come to me in my dreams.
But first, I’m going to do something that makes me happy. As I typed that last sentence the tears stopped flowing, and now cling gently to my eyelashes. Just the thought of sharing a new recipe with all of you made me stop and smile.
So many of you say I inspire you, but really it is all of you who give me hope, and for that gift I come bearing chocolate gingerbread cake doughnuts. Wrap your arms around yourself and hold on tight—that’s me hugging you, wishing you a happy and merry. Here’s to peace, love and happiness—and leaving fear behind as 2011 weaves into 2012.
This recipe is now part of my new site, Simmering. It can be found by searching the archives here.