The Big Easy Was Nothing But Hard On My Heart

I spent the majority of last week in New Orleans for work.  I am pretty sure that the week tried to kill me using a variety of implements which included, but were not limited to cement (broken, whole and covered by bad carpeting), new clogs (while the fate of their cuteness is still undecided, the state of their stability is decidedly un), cute flats (which were too big), irritating colleagues, Sandra Bullock and Jesse James and front desk reception at a W Hotel that misplaced every single package I left with them.  And I left a lot of packages with them. 

So, my five days in The Big Easy was, quite frankly, hard.  Ridiculously so.  But really, not for any of the reasons above.  I was in the city for no more than 45 minutes, just enough time to drop off luggage and put together a game plan for the night when I got voicemail from a friend.  Someone I hadn’t talked to in too long.  I could tell from her voice something was wrong.  I decided to put it off, wait until the morning.  Hurricanes were awaiting.  Then another call came in.  My sister.  The message was simply, call me. 

And I did.

And my heart broke into tiny little pieces as my brain was pulled and stretched and blistered as it tried to process.  Anissa had another stroke.  What. The. Fuck.

I met Anissa for the very first time in the outpatient clinic where her daughter Peyton was receiving chemotherapy.  I was working for a pediatric cancer non-profit and I was at the facility getting b-roll footage.  I watched Peyton play with a staff member’s retractable badge as if it were the best toy ever created.  And I watched Anissa looking at her daughter with all the love and joy a face could express. 

In the sorority of cancer moms, every week was hell week and no one ever wanted to join.  When leukemia made Anissa its newest pledge, she unknowingly entered a world that needed her as much as she needed it.  And that world – she changed it.  And I wish I could find the words to explain it all – but there are not enough adjectives in my entire vernacular to describe the laughter she created when it was in the most serious of deficits, the hope she gave when it seemed to be snuffed out by despair, and the comfort she gave when hearts were broken by the most unimaginable loss.

All week I have been trying desperately to wrap my brain around all of this.  Trying to process something that is simply not fathomable.  My heart keeps telling me that she is going to wake up any day and write a post entitled “A Tale of Two Strokes: How to Get Ralph Macchio to Become Your Greatest Supporter.”  Admittedly, there are moments when my head decides it wants to get all Dr. Google.  Weeks like this make me eternally grateful that I never listen to my head.

There are a lot of things I don’t know (algebra, how they decide the order of the balloons in Macy’s parade, the true gender of Lady Gaga).  But the things I do know, I know with complete confidence.

I know that this stroke is being a complete asshole.  Of epic proportions.  And while it may think it has a stronghold on our girl, it so fucking doesn’t.  Little by little, Anissa is planning her counter attack.  Because she is sneaky and fiercely strong and she will win.  The stroke will go down. 

I know that the impact of Anissa’s life is far greater than I ever imagined.  She IS a big deal on the internets.  Huge.  I have been inspired, overwhelmed and touched by the outpouring of support and love for Anissa and her family.  Once again, she has become a part of a community that needs her as much as she needs it. 

I know that Anissa kids, Nathanial, Rachael & Peyton are more than worth going to hell and back for.  These kids are riotously funny, smart, beautiful, talented and the most pure reflections of Anissa.  And Peter?  Seriously awesome.  As an anniversary gift one year, he bought Anissa the soundtrack for Once More With Feeling, the musical episode of Buffy.  Enough said.

I know that from the first time I met Peyton, every cell in my body knew that she would be a survivor.  There was no doubt.  To see her little nose crinkle up like a Shar Pei and laugh was to know that she was much stronger than leukemia.  And that strength?  She got it from her Mama. 

Lastly, I know that miracles do happen.  In the cancer community, Anissa and I were both witness to them.  Get ready ladies and gentlemen, because if you didn’t believe before, you will soon.  A miracle is about to happen.  Because while Anissa may Aim Low on things like cleaning and cooking and personal hygiene on occasion, she does not half-ass it when it comes to her family. 

I started this blog because of Anissa.  Because she pushed and prodded and encouraged and supported.  And when I put up my first post, I told her I was going to take it down because no one was going to read it, she made me promise that I would keep it up until August so I could go to Blogher in NY this year.  So I promised because apparently it is awkward to go to a blogging event when you don’t blog.  And I fully expect that she will hold up her end of the deal. 

So a week in New Orleans and there were no Hurricanes. No beads. No flashing of my bewbs.  I went St. Louis Cathedral in Jackson Square and lit candles for Anissa.  And not the .50 votives in the foyer.  I went for the big dogs at the alter (and nearly set the place on fire with those crazy wood sticks, that don’t go out very easily).  And I expect a return on my investment.  Like, today would be great. 

Please continue to keep Anissa, Peter, Nathaniel, Rachael and Peyton in your daily prayers.  And while I know times are hard, if you have anything to spare, think of the Mayhews.  This is a most difficult road for them – let’s do everything we can to make it easier.  Click Here to make a donation NOW!  Check Aiming Low for updates on ways to help.  Send Pete and family your love on Hope4Peyton.org.