genes and drives

It's Saturday morning. Jared wakes up late and hurries to get ready for class. He will be gone all day.

I scrambled to put on some clothes, use the bathroom, pack Jared a lunch, and put S in the car in his pajamas. We enjoy some apple and banana on the way to drop Jared off. I enjoy the drive time as a family. The joys I wouldn't get if Jared and I had separate cars....

After saying a pray with them in the car, kissing my sweet husband goodbye, and pulling out of the parking lot, I turned on the book I've been listening to.

I am listening to a book on CD, so my drives are still anticipated even when I am alone. The fictional book is called, Still Alice  and it's about a brilliant Harvard psychology professor who is diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer's disease at age 50. While 'the guy' looks out the back window and chats to himself, I listen to Alice's thoughts and reactions after the diagnosis is confirmed with genetic testing. Mutated genes give her three children a 50% chance of getting the disease. She forgets recipes she's been making since childhood. She forgets to catch her plane to Chicago. She reintroduces herself to an acquiescence she met only moments before. When will she stop recognizing her children and husband? When will she start wandering the halls at night? When will she completely forget how to get home safely when she goes for her daily jog? These and so many more questions begin to haunt her and her family.

I look in the rear view mirror at my little boy. My only son, my first born. My flesh and blood. My genes. My husband's genes. With all our genetic beauties and failures. Jared's mom and grandma both died too young from cancer, and I have a great fear that Jared is predisposed to the disease as well. We have changed many lifestyle choices to make the odds more in our favor. We control what we can control. The guy locks eyes with mine. He is sucking his thumb, still waking up, and holding the corner of his blanket. His favorite blanket that grandma O made him. He adores this blanket.

My thoughts tune back to Alice. She plays with the idea of her children and husband one day letting something as insignificant and treatable as pneumonia taking her life to stop the mutual suffering. She thinks she would rather have been diagnosed with cancer.

It hits me. I miss Mom O. I miss her with an ache I can't push down. I begin to cry in the car somewhere along route 28 and weep for several minutes. My son deserves to know his grandma and I miss talking to my mother-in-law. There is so much she hasn't told me yet. So much yet to learn. But in this melancholy moment, I thank God that she was taken quickly and with her mind in tact. She suffered for less than a year and loved her family and friends til the very end. Even her funeral brought glory to God and comforting friendship to her family. There is always a silver lining. But I still miss her. I need to make a story book of her life adventures so my children will know of their amazing heritage. I will make that book for them. I must. Soon.