I Went To A Church

Hi All,

I'm sorry I've been so wishy-washy with my posts.  I don't really have a very good excuse, and when I think about it, I really was kind of avoiding it.  I had intended to post the day after Christmas...but I was surprised at how emotional I actually got on Christmas Eve/Christmas, and although I felt like a total puss for it I really didn't want to write anything.  It's not like I've been sitting around crying over things or holed up in my house feeling sorry for myself...there's just been this weird "aura" around me.  Like every once in a while I will think "this day 4 fours years ago I was having an allergic reaction to benadryl and thought I was going to die" or "this day four years ago I bought my first wig"...and I know, I know: it really sounds like I'm being overdramatic.  But like I said...I don't have a mental breakdown over it...I just remember it, and then feel funny for a little while.

Nothing made me feel funnier than I did on Christmas Eve.  If you didn't know, Christmas Eve was the day I began chemo.  But to be perfectly honest, I don't remember much about that day, except that in the evening the morphine was making my legs itch so they decided to give me Benadryl.  It was then that we learned that I'm allergic to Benadryl.  I had heart palpitations all night, and I could not relax at all.  I remember thinking that my heart was going to explode and I was going to die before Christmas morning.  It is literally the only recollection I have of the day I started chemo.  I don't remember them hooking me up to the bag, I don't remember the bone marrow tests, the blood tests, and all that shit they did to see if the cancer had spread.  I don't even remember them coming in to tell me the cancer hadn't spread. 
 
But this year, I did fine all day.  I was finishing up some errands for my mom, working on this writing project I've been doing, and I was totally content.  My dad took Jackie to the hospital to drop off the Build-a-Bear, and we went off to my aunts.  Still totally fine. I don't know what came over me that night...I was having fun playing dolls with my little cousin, and eating the cookies that were accidentally made with granulated seasalt.  And then all of a sudden I heard my mom mention something about that Christmas we spent in the hospital...and I realized that I didn't remember what she was talking about.  And when I really started thinking about it...I couldn't remember anything about that Christmas, except that my extended family uprooted from the house in Seneca Falls to come to the hospital.  That was my grandma's last Christmas.  I've always felt guilty about that...she passed away a week after the doctors declared me in remission.  Just two weeks before the next Christmas.
  
Well...I was done after that.  I left the room and had a good cry.  I cried silently all the way home.  Angry at myself for something...not just for ruining Grandma's last Christmas...I realized I was angry with myself for carrying on with the holidays like nothing had happened.  Pretending this was not the anniversary of the single most momentous time of my life.  Pretending there weren't families having the same crap luck this year, sitting in the hospital thinking "what the f**k is going on?"  And pretending that I didn't still feel so sorry for that girl I was.  Because I do, and I always will.  I will always cry for the Jesse Pardee of Christmas 2008. 
  
We got home, and I was trying to watch A Christmas Story on TBS like any sane person would, and I couldn't sit still.  I just couldn't.
  
Now...the following events...I don't even know how it happened.  I mean, no offense to religious people...but I am just not a religious person. I've tried to be, and I just can't be.  But all of a sudden, I was out brushing off the car in the middle of a snowstorm, slipping and sliding my way down the road in a freaking blizzard.  And I went to a church.
  
I got to the door at 11:57 pm, and a woman I recognized as one of my childhood friends' mothers whispered "Merry Christmas" as I walked in.  I sat in a pew by myself, pretending I knew the prayers, and watching the people next to me when they did the sign of the cross so I didn't screw it up.  At some point during the service, I realized that I had had some sort of out of body experience.  I don't know what brought me to the church.  I really don't.  But if I had to guess...I would say it was my Grandma.  She was very religious, and I had a feeling that she was really happy that I was there in that church.  I'll bet she was there, too. 
  
When I saw everyone around me pulling out the little kneely thingy, I quickly joined them, and I started praying.  Not just sending my "positive energy" as I usually say.  Praying.  I prayed for Grandma, and I prayed for everyone battling cancer.  I prayed for those who were stuck in the hospital right now, sad and confused.  I prayed for my family.  I prayed for the families in Connecticut who were missing a crucial part of their holiday cheer.  And I prayed for Jesse Pardee with the itchy morphine legs whose heart beat out of her chest as she received her chemo on Christmas Eve 2008.
  
It was quite an experience. Cathartic.  Therapeutic.  I didn't feel like I was forgetting anymore.  It made me feel like I was paying tribute to those events in my life...and when I got back home in the snowstorm that night, I was happier and ready to have a nice holiday. I fell asleep to A Christmas Story on TBS, waiting for Santa.

These past few days...they've still been a little strange for me, so forgive me for avoiding this blog.  My New Year's Resolution is to stay faithful to it!  Wednesdays!  From here on out (until I don't post on a Wednesday).

Happy New Year,
Jesse