Welcome to Holland

On Saturday I attended the funeral of a young boy. Naturally it was very emotional and everything seemed so unfair. But in the midst of it all, it was a beautiful celebration of the exceptional life this boy lived each and every day. The priest who gave the homily is also the priest at the church my family has attended my entire life. He finished his sermon by reciting a poem that fit the situation perfectly, as this young boy was born with Down Syndrome. It is called "Welcome to Holland" by Emily Perl Kingsley.  I would like to share it with all of you now:

I am often asked to describe the experience of raising a child with a disability - to try to help people who have not shared that unique experience to understand it, to imagine how it would feel.  It's like this....

When you're going to have a baby, it's like planning a fabulous vacation trip - to Italy.  You buy a bunch of guide books and make your wonderful plans. The Coliseum.  The Michelangelo David.  The gondolas in Venice.  You may learn some handy phrases in Italian.  It's all very exciting.

After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives.  You pack your bags and off you go.  Several hours later, the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, "Welcome to Holland."

"Holland?!?" you say. "What do you mean Holland?? I signed up for Italy!  I'm supposed to be in Italy.  All my life I've dreamed of going to Italy."

But there's been a change in the flight plan.  They've landed in Holland and there you must stay.

The important thing is that they haven't taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place, full of pestilence, famine and disease.  It's just a different place.

So you must go out and buy new guide books. And you must learn a whole new language.  And you will meet a whole new group of people you would never have met.

It’s just a different place.  It's slower-paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy.  But after you've been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around.... and you begin to notice that Holland has windmills....and Holland has tulips.  Holland even has Rembrandts.

But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy... and they're all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there.  And for the rest of your life, you will say, "Yes, that's where I was supposed to go. That's what I had planned."

And the pain of that will never, ever, ever, ever  go away... because the loss of that dream is a very, very significant loss.

But... if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn't get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things ... about Holland.

I went to lunch today with that priest at our favorite restaurant. As we were discussing all of the recent changes in my life, I randomly brought up his homily and complimented him on a job very well done. He proceeded to say, "Keri, that Holland poem is now your life too. You have always had so many plans and ideas for what the future would hold, and now things have changed." I thought about his words and knew he was right. I do not know how everything is going to work out with my classes. My doctors aren't sure if the cancer has spread or not, only time and the whole body scan will tell. I need to fit in a few more medical school interviews, but am not sure when I will have open time slots to make the trips. Then there's the thought of what if I am not accepted? And for the rest of my life, there is always the chance that the cancer will reappear. So I will need routine check-up's and tests. 

But if I think of what my life would have been like "in Italy", I will miss the beauty my life holds now "in Holland". The things that were once bright lights in my life have already began to fade. What matters most on my journey is the relationships I have with my loving family, unfailing friends, and of course my faith that God is in total control. My priest also compared this entire experience to my trip to Africa this past July. Before I left, I knew nobody else going, was supposed to just meet up with a local at the airport when I landed, travel each day to various villages to medically serve the poor, and live an entirely different life. Yet, I didn't have an ounce of fear. I just anxiously lived each day in excitement of what was going on at that very instant. He told me he sees me reflecting that same attitude with my new cancer adventure. I responded, "But sometimes I tear up at the most random times, and not because I am sad. I can't seem to figure out why it happens." He answered, "I can tell you are overwhelmed with the love and beauty you are seeing everywhere and in everyone in your life." He was right again.

So even in the last couple days I have learned more about myself. I am not living in the past, or thinking of what my future "should" hold. I am embracing the here and now and treasuring every moment. Life is a precious gift and Holland is a lovely place to be.