February

February. So many anniversaries. Not good ones. Diagnosis day. Bone marrow transplant. The day my father died. The last time Ariella ever danced. I try not to think about it but my body always remembers. I’m in a funk, more so than usual. I must be good at pretending because most don’t seem to notice. The memories swirl around me. The fear and the hope. The loss and the optimism. February changed my life multiple times. February 3. The day we were told definitively that Ariella had cancer. I was sort of aware of the day somewhere in my conscience. I knew the day was approaching but it didn’t really register that day. But when I worked that evening signs from Ariella were abundant. “Fight Song” followed by two other songs that I always tie to Ariella and a customer named Ariel. It was then that it hit me that that was the day our lives truly had changed. From that point on there would always be a before and an after. We would never be truly carefree again. And then a couple years and few months later another before and after. February 25, the day my father died. February 26, Ariella’s bone marrow transplant. Supposed to be her cure but ended up being the cause of her death. February. Some times of the year are easier than others. February is up there with being the hardest time of year for me.

The other day I was working with a student in his classroom. The teacher had calming music playing in the background. The same exact music Ariella often played when she was in the hospital. I was immediately taken back to that hospital room in Sinai, in bed with Ariella, her starting the music as we laid down together to nap. Those days were so difficult and yet I also treasured them. As much as the hospital stays sucked, especially when Ariella felt bad, we also managed to find ways to have fun. And I got to spend so much time with Ariella. It was in those hospital rooms where Ariella showed cancer who was boss. Cancer did not stop her. It did not stop her laughter, it did not kill her spirit. Cancer magnified Ariella’s generosity, resilience, and spunk. It was in those rooms where Ariella shared her fears but also her optimism. She never thought she was going to be anything but okay. She never lost hope. It was in those rooms that Ariella had her head shaved and also in those rooms when Ariella was first brave enough to share a picture of herself without hair.

We got to know all the doctors, nurses, and other patients. Ari’s Bears was started at Sinai, by bringing bears with us to clinic visits and hospital stays. We had many, many meals there and enjoyed parties, events, and celebrations. We played games, made slime, read books together, watched TV, hung out in the playroom, did crafts. Many times she kicked David and me out of the room to hang out with her friends. During those days I never dreamed I would miss it but now I would give everything I have to go back there. To return to a place where I had hope, where I was sure everything was going to be all right in the end. To go to a time when Ariella was alive. Yes I miss those days. As hard as they were, especially for Ariella, she was still with us and we were whole.