Maria Housden - Hannah’s Gift - Lessons from a Life Fully Lived

I dedicate this book toWill, Hannah, Margaret, and Madelainewith gratitude and love.

…Walk slowly now, small soul, by the edge of the water. Choose carefully all you are going to lose, though any of it would do.

—Jane Hirshfield

Cover

Title Page

Dedication

Epigraph

Prologue

Truth

Dr. Truth Jekyll and Mr. Hyde Denial

Silent Comfort

Perspective

Light in the Shadow

Just One Thing

Respect

Dr. Markoff’s Rule

Truth: A Special Medicine

Love in the Dark

Room for the Truth

A Mustard Seed

A Deeper Silence

Resilience

The Scent of Home

Beyond Fear

Joy

Hannah’s Birthday

Anticipation

No Worries

The Unbirthday

Drug Dealing at the Y

Inhale

Magic

Secrets

Christmas Presence

Communion with Dr. Tomato-head

Change of Mind, Change of Heart

Savage Joy

Nurse Katie and the Tea Party

Joy in a Jeep

Nothing Special

Celebrate

Faith

Thy Will (and Mine) Be Done

Say Yes

Healing Service Hypocrite

… And the Cow Jumped over the Moon

Mother’s Day

Waiting to Exhale

Grandma’s Promise

Circle of Life

Metamorphosis

On the Threshold

Everywhere I Am, There You’ll Be

Compassion

As Real as It Gets

Sorry She Asked

The Bathroom Guilt Trip

Stillness

Silence

P.S.

Amen

Vacuum

Breath

Choice

Descent

Dreaming a New Life

Peeling the Onion of Grief

Dead Is Dead

Are You Looking at Me?

Social Grace

Belonging

Wonder

Thirst

Fragility

Dreamweaver

Exhale

Given

Gratitude

Sea Change

Harvest

Dance

Remembering

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Praise

Copyright

About the Publisher

LOOKING BACK, I REALIZE THAT MY WHOLE LIFE PIVOTS silently around this single moment: I was standing in a Stride-Rite children’s shoe store, wondering which pair of shoes to buy. Black or blue leather would coordinate with every outfit in Hannah’s preschool wardrobe. I held up one shoe in each color and asked, “Which one do you prefer?”

Hannah had already decided.

“These are my shoes,” she declared, holding up a pair of red patent leather Mary Janes.

I smiled patiently.

“Hannah, I can only afford to buy one pair of shoes today. Those are lovely, but they’re just not practical. We need to buy something that will match the dresses in your closet.”

“But Mommy,” she protested, “red shoes go with everything. Besides,” she added, slipping her feet into the display pair, three sizes too big for her, “they fit me just perfect!!!”

The saleswoman, overhearing the conversation, laughed.

“What do you think, Mom?” the woman asked. “Should I see if we have a smaller size in the back?”

I hesitated. Saving money and making sure my children were properly dressed were things that really mattered to me. Yet something about the expectant joy on Hannah’s face lodged the automatic “no” into the back of my throat.

“Yes, why don’t you check in the back,” I said.

Hannah squealed and jumped up and down. When the woman returned, Hannah slid her feet into the shoes. This time, they were a perfect fit. “Just like Cinderella!” Hannah whispered. Walking primly to the mirror, she stood for a moment, transfixed, staring at the image of the shoes on her feet. She turned to me.

“I’d better test them out,” she said, tapping the toe of one shoe on the carpeted floor. Not satisfied, she headed for the entrance to the store. The saleswoman and I followed. As soon as Hannah stepped into the atrium of the mall, the sound of the red shoes on the hardwood floor stopped her in her tracks. Pausing, she clicked the heel of one foot and then the other. She looked up, grinning, to see if I had heard. I smiled and nodded encouragingly.

Closing her eyes and extending her arms, Hannah began to dance. Oblivious to everything but the shoes on her feet, she skipped and clicked across the floor, twirling in circles, faster and faster. Her pure delight and the defiant flash of the red shoes caught everyone’s attention.

People who passed smiled first at Hannah, then at each other. Some stopped to watch; a few children and an elderly man joined in. One woman, her arms full of shopping bags, turned to the woman next to her. “I’ve always wanted a pair of red shoes,” she said. “Me, too,” said the other. “What have we been waiting for?”

Hannah finished her performance by falling in a dramatic heap on the floor. Those who were still watching applauded and cheered. Hannah stood up, smoothed the front of her dress, and adjusted the bow in her hair.

“Mommy,” she said, turning to me, “I think these are my shoes, don’t you?”

THE TRUEST MEASURE of a life is not its length, but the fullness in which it is lived.

When my daughter Hannah was diagnosed with cancer, one month before her third birthday, everything I had believed about myself and my life was called into question. In the face of the fiercest, most unrelenting truth, I began to look for new answers. Hannah herself became my teacher. Honest, funny, and fearless in the way she lived her life and embraced her death, Hannah opened me to a deeper wisdom, to a more joyful, less fearful way of living.

After Hannah’s death in 1994, I began to write about the journey we had taken together. I struggled to remember every detail, afraid to forget even one. It seemed a hopeless, overwhelming task. I gave up, decided to wait, to let myself grieve and heal. Gradually, I began to see that the story was still unfolding; rather than ending with Hannah’s death, it had only begun. Now, seven years later, there are certain memories—brief moments that may have taken place weeks or months apart—that stand out in bright relief against the background of my days; moments that continue to live in me because they are still teaching me.

This book is a collection of those memories; a photo album of the moments that became Hannah’s gift to me. May her story offer solace to those who suffer, nourishment to those who long for deeper faith, and inspiration to those who want the courage to live their own truth.

telling it and living it

… and the truth shall make you free.

—John 8:32

WE BOTH BEGAN BLEEDING ON THE SAME DAY.

I woke to it slowly. Drifting out of a deep sleep, I lay in bed, my eyes closed, inhaling the cool morning air that wafted in through the open window, its breath a welcome respite from the previous night’s August heat. I stretched my body and sighed contentedly. Claude stirred beside me. I heard the footfalls of an early morning jogger pass below, on the street side of the house. A car drove by. I opened my eyes. Our bedroom was gray and still.

As I rolled onto my side, I felt a sticky warmth between my legs. Instantly, I was awake. I slid one thigh across the other and felt a sucking sensation as they parted. Clamping my legs together, I closed my eyes and willed myself to be dreaming. Everything was quiet, except for the thud of my heart in my chest. I heard another car drive by; then another. I opened my eyes again, this time more slowly. The first light was beginning to sharpen the outlines of objects in the room.