Finding a Way

I pulled out my grandmother's "happiness file," a collection of things she saved to cheer herself up, and the famous words on one of the index cards resonated with me more than ever before. “When there’s a will, there’s a way.” I sat, quietly contemplating how my life has turned out. 

I used to accomplish so much. When I decided to do something, I would almost ALWAYS find a way to get it done. But then in 2020, doctors diagnosed me with stage 4 melanoma and everything changed. They initially gave me two years to live, and although I've lived much longer, every day has been a battle for my life. 

I had a serious back surgery where surgeons removed my L3 and put a cage in my spine; I've endured several separate rounds of radiation, and years of cancer treatments. This has affected my ability to stand up straight and walk for long periods. 

These changes have been especially tough because before I got sick, the kids and I loved hiking and taking walks together. "Mama, can we walk to the gas station, like we used to?" Indy asked the other day.

"I would love to," I said, but I'm not sure if I can. How about I try working up to it?"

She nodded, so excited. 

The next day while Indy was at work, I tried walking to the end of the block and got so winded that I had to crouch down until my breath came regularly and my legs and back didn't hurt so badly. That night, with tears in my eyes, I asked Indy if we could drive to the gas station instead.

"It's okay, Mama," she said, and even though I knew she meant it, that was hard, another reminder of how this has negatively affected my family.

Anyway, a few weeks later, my dad called out of no where. "Hon," he said, "Mom and I bought you a big surprise. Be looking for it in the mail. Okay?"

I sat down, forgetting my previous self-pity and wondering what in the world my parents had gotten. "Mike, do you know what it is?"

He shook his head thoughtfully. "I'm as curious as you are."

The following week, I looked out on the porch to see a huge box on a massive pallet. "What in the heck?" 

The kids and I opened it, so excited to see that my parents bought me a riding scooter! It's can travel up to 18 miles in one charge and can zip around at 5 miles an hour.

Mike unhooked the scooter from its charger the next day. "Are you gonna take it out today?" he asked.

"Yep." I smiled. "I just need to get Indy.

"We're going on a date," I said after walking into Indy's room. 

“Just like old times?"

"What are we gonna do?" she asked.

"Walk to the gas station."

Tears filled her eyes, and I realized just how much this meant to her. I suddenly felt extra grateful to my parents, for all of their kindness and love over the years. I also remembered the quote my grandmother wrote down: When there’s a will, there’s a way. 

For years, I’ve subconsciously begun setting limitations for myself, believing many experiences were forever out of reach now. But my family helped me see that where I saw insurmountable barriers, incredible opportunities waited instead. They helped me find new ways of still doing things that I love. Life isn’t bad, it’s just a little bit different, and my family’s love and support has meant the world to me. I am so lucky to have them in my life.

Would You Rather?

Mike and I had been invited to a party with several well-to-do couples. The invitation had a unique request: everyone should bring a fun game idea. So, I grabbed a game our family loved, and we headed out the door.

That night, we sat around a massive table under a brilliant chandelier. We played various card games and enjoyed extravagant hors d'oeuvres. Everyone took turns choosing different games, and after a while, the hostess, Sharon, turned to me. "What game did you bring, Elisa?" she asked.

"Would You Rather," I replied, setting a small box of cards on the table. "Each person will take a turn reading a card and then explain their choice."

Mike smiled at me, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. "This'll be fun," he said because we'd chosen a deck filled with philosophical questions that made for some very interesting conversations. The answers could seem obvious at first, but time would prove otherwise—especially when people promised to be honest during the game.

A man named Erik was the first to take a turn. A low chuckle escaped his lips as he read his card aloud: "Would you rather (A) go to prison for the rest of your life or (B) have to sail around the world... alone?"

"B," he declared without hesitation. "I'll figure it out. But that's a short time, compared to life in prison."

His wife, Monica, gasped dramatically. "But you could die!"

"Nah." Erik shrugged confidently. "I'll be fine." He handed the box to his wife and smirked as if he could hardly wait to hear her question.

"Would you rather," Monica read steadily, "(A) lose all of your money or (B) get killed by a bear?" She set the card down and looked at everyone around the table. "Well, that's easy. I'd rather get killed by a bear!"

A few of us, including me, didn't mean to, but our mouths fell open in shock. I knew Monica and Erik had built their business from nothing. They'd gotten married right out of high school, scrimping and saving to chase their dreams. No one had expected their business to do as well as it had, yet here we were. Yet, two decades later, my high school friends were multimillionaires.

I couldn't help but feel a pang of curiosity, and since no one else dared ask, I decided to voice the question on everyone's minds. "You'd rather die than lose all of your money?" It seemed ludicrous. Who would choose death over poverty? Silence filled the space between us, and I thought about how much my friends had changed over the years. They really seemed to have everything money could buy: the biggest house on the hill, a boat, designer clothes, luxury cars—Erik even got his pilot's license and purchased a brand-new Cessna airplane!

Monica nodded to me, and I remembered what I'd just asked her, if she'd actually meant that she'd rather get killed by a bear than lose all of her money.

"Yes," she finally said, her voice unwavering. "That money will pay for our kids to go to college. They'll be set up to have good lives. If I had to die so they could keep it, that's what I'd do."

A pang of guilt twisted in my gut. I knew what Monica and Erik had been through years before: Erik's absentee parents, Monica's single mom who battled addiction, and all the relatives who never believed they'd amount to anything. 

This wasn't about money; it was about breaking a cycle.

I'm always preaching to my kids about kindness, talking about not judging because we never know what people have been through. Yet here I was, doing the very thing I warned against.

I saw my own hypocrisy reflected in Monica's eyes and realized again that giving people the benefit of the doubt isn't just a lesson to be taught, it's a choice that needs to be made every single day.

As Monica passed the Would You Rather deck to a woman next to her, I thought of how she and Erik fought their way out of impossible circumstances. Their children are getting the childhood their parents never had, seeing an example of incredible love and the ability to rise above anything.