Thankful for Leaves

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S9_YeNO6jL4&noredirect=1

I spent most of my day today in the car for work.  This song struck me and was one I wanted to share with so many people in my life.  There are so many leaves of my family tree out there supporting me.

In the fall leaves on trees provide us beauty.  Just as winter approaches we get this amazing burst of color.  Leaves can brighten the landscape- provide color to a bland brown hill.  There are many in my life who have provided color on dark days.

Leaves are where energy is converted for use by a tree.  Without leaves this conversion process does not take place and the tree withers.  Believe me there are many of you out there that have provided energy on days that I felt I could not take one more breath, one more step.

Leaves aid in water transportation and prevent dehydration.  There have been many dry days lately and so many of you have provided much needed moisture to my dry and cracking soul.  Leaves also provide shade for the tree and keep it cool.  There are so many times I have rested in your shade.

Finally, one cannot ignore the beautiful sound of wind rustling through the leaves in the mountains or the squeals of delight when children dive into a pile of leaves and feel its crackling cushion catching them.  Leaves can be a safety net.  Leaves can provide calm.  Leaves can signal us to incoming weather and help us prepare.

You are the leaves on my family tree.  Those of you who read, who respond, who send notes, who smile, who cry, who listen, who pray.  I'm so thankful for leaves today!

Fighting Darkness and the Heavy Weight of a Strange Guilt

I got quiet, speechless.  Lately it has been difficult to find words.  I search for them but don't find the exact ones that represent things I've been feeling.  I can think of one descriptor- dark.  It seems like I've been on my knees feeling around for a flashlight but as soon as I think I've located it it rolls away and the search begins again.  I won't abandon the search but it's been a trying few weeks.  These have been dark days.  There are definite moments when the skies break and I am bathed in light but the dark inevitably returns.  And, in the dark the words I seek disappear. The silence is eerily soothing.  I think I'm breathing and regrouping- going through a valley, about to make a climb toward the light. 

Several of the women in my support group have buried their husbands the past few weeks.  One just made a call to hospice and she and her husband have decided to suspend treatments and let the disease take its course.  They are busy making memories with the time that remains.  These women are incredibly strong.  They share their stories to light the way for those that may have to walk the same journey in the future.  They are flashlights in the dark world of cancer. 

I wrestle with their losses and their stories.  I have a sense of guilt.  Brett is doing well.  His side effects have been fairly manageable.  His treatment has a large chance of being successful.  He very well could be "cured" or at least achieve a lengthy remission.  I feel badly that they have suffered such losses and we are having a very different experience at the moment.  I know they don't begrudge me this hope.  I know they are truly happy that we are on a different side of the disease.  But, the weight of this strange guilt has been sitting on my chest today- been difficult to catch my breath.  And, honestly, there's fear because I want to stay on this side of the disease.  I don't want to follow them.  They display amazing strength, faith, and grace.  Would I in their shoes?  Sure makes me examine myself deeply. 

I took a night hike once at a teachers' camp in Wisconsin.  It was amazing.  We sat in the dark for a few moments allowing our eyes to adjust.  We really could see our way in the darkness.  Because we were in the quiet darkness we saw and heard beavers alerting our arrival with slaps of their tail on the water.  We startled a deer.  We didn't see the bugs and critters that would normally startle me.  It felt incredibly safe there in the dark.  I feel safe in my recent darkness and I'm letting my eyes adjust to the darkness and walking the path.  I don't want to fear the dark but I don't want this hike to last much longer.  Time to find the flashlight.  I'm certain I'll reach it soon. 

Communication is a Two Way Street

If you've ever driven down a one way street you know you're pretty lonely.  There's no one on either side of you to look at or greet.  Today, however, I began to think about two way streets which in my mind are the opposite- two lanes going against each other with plenty to take in all around.  Is this what we really believe about communication?  I understand the metaphor to represent that communicating has to go both directions to be successful but today I thought about this metaphor a little more deeply.  Do we really want our communication to be represented by vehicles going in opposite directions and simply passing each other at some point?  Do we really want communication to be represented by busy streets and traffic and honking?  I experienced some of that today on some two way streets as I traveled for work.

I joined an online support group for cancer caregivers.  I wanted a place to share where other people "get it".  I wanted to connect with people going through some of the same things in life.  But, honestly, I was worried about connecting with strangers and building open communication in an online forum (she ironically says in a blog).  I wasn't sure how we could carry on dialogue and support each other without directly speaking, without sharing our last names, where we lived, and other details that might identify us to each other.  I was skeptical.  What I have found, though, is that I have bonded with several other caregivers online.  I know them by "name" and we check in with each other nearly every day.  We can be real.  We can say the ugly things we bottle up all day.  We can talk about how angry we are at cancer and its many inconveniences.  We communicate so well.  Today I was pondering why it works.  I think it comes down to two reasons.  First of all, we are all on the same street.  We understand the terrain.  Second of all, we're going down the street side by side, not against each other in passing.  We post and take time to reflect and ponder before reaching out to each other.  I think it has created an atmosphere of communication that is a model for everyday life and my interactions with others.  When I "talk" with these new found friends I first read or "listen", then I contemplate and prepare my thoughts, and then I respond. 

All of this pondering of two way streets and communication was borne from a problem I am having communicating with someone.  I say things that are taken incorrectly and then the response is defensive and hurtful.  I don't think this person is intending this and I'm certainly not intending to be abrupt or hurtful.  We obviously are having a problem- our communication car has broken down on the side of the road and we need a tow truck desperately.  Today I was thinking about what works in the online support group and how it could apply to this situation.  Maybe I'm not truly listening before I respond.  Maybe I'm not establishing a clear direction.  Maybe I'm driving too fast for conditions and I need to slow down and carefully choose my words and responses.  This person and I are definitely on a two way street when it comes to communication.  We pass each other and once in awhile we make a brief connection but it doesn't last as traffic flows.  We need to find a way to go in the same direction.  I'm challenging myself to make a u-turn this week.  I'm also challenging myself to replace the two way street metaphor with a new one to describe how I think communication can truly be represented.  With all the road work and detours going on around my home town it is definitely time for a new metaphor.

It's a Numbers Game

I've always had a fascination with numbers.  Lately my life has become all about numbers.  We are hoping the odds are in our favor.  We are counting down treatments.  We are worrying about dosages- 120 mg versus 180 mg.  We have been supplied five year survival rates.  We have been supplied percentage of risk that cancer will return to the liver.  We count mileage for our taxes. We count two days out from treatments knowing when Brett will have his worst day and then get better.  We count money for bills and expenses.  We count hours during treatment and hours between.

I try to count good things.  I count blessings.  I count friends.  I count good days.  I count jogging mileage in hopes of increasing slowly and steadily.  I count days until summer break.  I count days until my daughter's wedding.  I count days until my son's first baseball game as a varsity player with great excitement for him. 

I am admittedly a bit compulsive with my counting and measuring.  For example, I drive Brett completely crazy with my dislike for odd numbers.  I won't stop running at 49 minutes- I'll go 50.  I won't walk 21 laps at the gym- I'll go 22.  I like even numbers.  I like things neat and tidy and divisible into two equal parts.  It's a part of my type A personality that reveals itself more and more to me these days.  I like control.  I like to be in the driver's seat.  This does not mix well with cancer.  Cancer has too many unknowns.

It is difficult to be a control freak type A person and watch someone you love go through cancer treatments.  The side effects are unpredictable from day to day and there is really little I can do to help.  It is difficult to be a control freak type A person and reconcile where faith must enter in to life.  Where do I end and where do true faith and trust begin?  This brings me to my favorite number.  One.

One mustard seed.  I need the faith of one mustard seed to move mountains.  That's not a lot.  It's more than I have most days but it's not a lot.  I'm working on it.  I'm striving for it.  One risen savior to celebrate this beautiful Easter.  One risen savior who knew what a control freak I would turn out to be and loves me anyway.  One husband picked just for me who understands me better than I do some days.  One beautiful and loving family that lives and laughs in a chaotic house.  One battle to face and one God to carry us through it all. One promise of a hope and a future.

I will continue to live this life one day at a time and find at least one thing to treasure about each day. Today the blessings are numerous;  sunshine , father and son playing baseball, soon to be husband and wife coloring eggs, a great run, new beginnings and the hope and promise of the Easter season.  One great day!