Something I often hear from those on the other side of active treatment is how little anyone speaks of what the after is really like. In my case, a fight that looked like 18 months of chemotherapy and immunotherapy during the isolation of COVID, iron transfusions, a bilateral mastectomy with multiple surgeries for reconstruction, a total hysterectomy and bilateral salpingo oophorectomy which meant slamming into menopause at 38, therapy and a multi level neck fusion,…
That’s when the shakes start. That’s when the world just seems to…fall apart. The fear paints the night. I worry til morning. When I can see the light. Oh how I wish for an end in sight. I am so tired of the fight. The quake comes from within and won’t stop. The noise is around me. It tries to break in. The peace tries to surround me. But it can’t win. The warmth grows.…
A new day brings hope. We may not enter the day with much more. But hope. hope is a fuel. A source. A lifeblood. An eternity. I close my eyes tonight, with hope.
When the light goes out, the skin begins to pale. When the light goes out, the smile is no longer there. When the light goes out, the eyes, they’ve lost their shine; the sparkle, no longer there. When the light goes out, the soul lifts high. When the light goes out, the help is ever high. When the light goes out, there is no time to be silent. For when the light goes out, you’ll…
Smudged lines of blues and greens stretch across the horizon of the sea on this Thanksgiving afternoon. What lies beyond, a blur. A few brave souls sit close to the edge of where the sand and the surf join. Chairs relaxed and toes in the sand. I imagine their eyes are closed, humming along to the ever constant rising and crashing of the sea. Maybe they’re the clerks at the grocery store that wished me…
Last night was homework night in our house. My youngest had a series of things she could choose from and as one, she chose to send a card to someone that she was thankful for at her school. She said, ‘my teacher won’t know it, but I’m going to send more than one. I’m thankful for a lot of people.’ Bless her heart, she had to give them all to her teacher. She sat there…
I watched my youngest girl play in a 3rd grade basketball game on Saturday. She wasn’t herself. Not the girl I remembered from last season anyway. She was the one who would play through the end, only stopping sometimes when the shriek of the whistle would blow in her ear. No, this time she seemed timid, withdrawn. Almost like she’d lost her spark. The bright ball of energy that exuded from her tiny frame was…