30 Minutes of Wonderful

"Steel Magnolias." One of my favorites. It's been my treasure box of quotes, quips and memories since the first time I saw it. It's one of two films that I can't turn off if it's airing. I had seen it probably 20 or more times by 2006.

And then Dia was born. And I couldn't watch it again.

At first all was well. But as Dia's fevers kept recurring and her blood sugar bounced around and we knew something was wrong but had no idea what, it started getting too real. The movie, I mean. Life was getting too real too, but I'm a genius at adopting a false sense of security, so in between bouts - when she seemed so healthy and normal - I could convince myself it was as it appeared on the outside. Carry on, carry on. But don't watch dramas, don't listen to sad songs... just keep it cheery and carry on.

But the fevers didn't stop. The pain didn't stop. The weight loss or at least the absence of growth didn't stop. The dark circles under her eyes didn't stop. Every 28 days like clockwork - plus the occasional just-for-fun flares triggered by too much activity, stress or fatigue - it didn't stop.

Finally we got a diagnosis. The good news was there was a treatment. It wouldn't cure her, but it would prevent the flare ups. It took years before we finally seemed to have the dosage high enough to keep the bouts at a minimum. During that time we saw so many specialists, she had so many tests, she went through so much pain, lost and gained back so much weight, spent months of her life in bed and still we would carry on.

Well meaning friends would comment on how well she looked. They'd see how she'd grown or how healthy her complexion was. They'd comment on how happy a child she is - how tremendous - how unique. I treasured those comments and I stored them in my heart for hope and to feed that glorious sense of security. All would be well. Forever.

But you know how, in the movie, Shelby is fine most of the time? And how, in the movie, she doesn't pass until she's fully grown, married and with a child of her own? And how, the fact that she got all the way to adulthood means little to M'lynn because she still suffered the loss of her child? And how M'lynn knew all along that Shelby had to be careful; she was different; there were limits to what she could do?

Yeah. A mom of a child with a long-term prognosis of a potential early departure from this life is a tough role to play. I struggle with it much more than it looks on the outside. Much more than I even give myself credit for. And I haven't found the playbook for how to handle it yet and, if I did, I wouldn't read it. It would make it too real.

Not too long ago, though, I finally mustered the courage to watch the movie again - this time with Dia. And though I sobbed much more violently than ever before, I heard a message spoken by Shelby but delivered, somehow, through Dia: "I would rather have 30 minutes of wonderful, than a lifetime of nothing special."

I realized, whether subconsciously or intentionally, I am doing exactly that for her. I'm giving her 30 minutes of wonderful in every instance I can. I throw crazy parties transforming my living room into Mount Olympus or a fairyland or Tatooine or a comic strip - not to impress the guests, but to give my imaginative girl her vision of the world for a day. We travel. I've hopped the pond more times in the last 4 years than I have in my entire life. I spend money on ridiculously elaborate backyard tree house-decks and Michelin rated restaurants and over-sized stuffed animals while I drive around in a 13 year old car, forego mani/pedis and wear clothes that are so outdated they are verging on 'vintage.'

More importantly, though, I give her time now. My time, I mean. It took a few years of having none of it to give her - of trying to drive my career, of thinking (erroneously) that my title and a good salary was my version of wonderful - to realize that I was missing the very thing I was trying to save. Thankfully, a beach house and a wonderful man and the support of my little family got me back to the place I belonged and since August, 2018 I've been right here.

Now I never miss a Super Monday or a Hotel Night or a Momma Day - these silly traditions that Dia invented where we watch Super Girl, or cuddle together on my bed with 'room service' and pretend we're traveling, or spend the day - just the two of us - at the beach, or shopping, or at the movies. I never miss a performance; I can be called to hear what she just learned at school and I can give - and get - all the hours of wonderful that this life inherently provides.

It's still scary to be a M'lynn, though. I'm not gonna lie. But it's not bad, I suppose, to cherish every day. I'm going to give her every 30 minutes of wonderful this life can offer her so that when that day comes... if that day comes ... when her body gives out, we can remember and rest in knowing that this life of hers was made up of 30 minutes of wonderful every single day.