My Own Private Metaphor

The boy struggled.  There was a lot of pressure.  Some didn't believe in him- at times he didn't believe in himself.  So much he wanted, so much he wanted to prove,  so many disappointments and near misses.  Heartbreak breeds character and his grew.  His parents heard what a great kid he is and how proud they should be of him.  And they were.  But, they, too, dreamed of his break out moment- of that defining moment when he owned what he was capable of and got to taste just a little bit of victory over fear and anxiety and frustration.  

His coach grew tired of the "Put me in" and did just that.  He took the mound and his mother sat in the car and watched him play on the radio, feeling every pitch.  Her confidence in him never wavered but her heart couldn't watch.  Baseball is such an up and down game.  One day you're on top, one day you're striking out.  To an outsider lacking true passion for the game it can feel very cruel.  

His father watched from the fence also feeling every pitch and smiling, knowing the boy was doing well.  

It wasn't until the top of the last inning that his father realized the boy was throwing a no hitter.  The boy himself hadn't realized it- just remained focused on getting that win.  As the last pitch was thrown, the last out made, the announcer congratulated the boy and it hit him.  His father ran to him and both were overcome with emotion.  They embraced.

To the outsider this was simply that; an embrace, a congratulations, a celebration of the boy's first no hitter.

To me it was a metaphor.  It was one I will cherish.  The boy running to his father, the father running to the boy-  both realizing that the boy had thrown his first no hitter-

both realizing that the father was there to see it...

 

Fire and Rain

-And with these our Hells and our Heavens so few inches apart,

We must be awfully small

and not as strong as we think we are-

Rich Mullins

There is a fire raging in nearby Colorado.  It is destroying homes and wilderness.  It is filling the air with smoke and ash.  It is making the sky dark.  It is threatening the lives of those who choose to fight it back and protect us.  I understand why we say fires are raging- this fire has a fury- it rages across the pine beetle infested mountains and foothills.  When I awoke this morning miles away the winds had shifted and the smoke burned my throat.  This fire is strong.  It is powerful.

Yesterday as we drove home through the canyon that runs parallel to the active fire there was this beautiful juxtaposition.  On one side was a huge smoke plume and gray skies and haze.  On the other side was a storm building with the evidence of rain falling, the sun providing backlight. It was beautiful and peaceful.  There came a point where the two met and my mind wandered.  What is it like in that spot where the rain meets fire?  Where is that exact point where the two connect?  Then I realized it is exactly where I am standing in life, between my Hells and Heavens.

My life right now is a meeting of fire and rain.  I'm standing in the middle turning in circles being burned and quenched, often in the very same instance.  My daughter got married last weekend.  The day could not have been more beautiful. The wedding was a celebration of her and a new son and a new branch of the family.  It was a gathering of friends from near and far.  It was a rejoicing in God's greatest gift- and the greatest of these is love.  It was a beautiful peaceful rain.  My baby girl got married last weekend.  She will never truly come home again.  She will never again inhabit that messy bedroom downstairs or tumble up the stairs in the morning trying to be grumpy and end up showering me with laughter.  My mind has been full of memories- fixing her  hair, fixing her scrapes and bruises, fixing her favorite meal.  Now someone else will be doing the fixing.  I'm the back up.  This is as it should be- and she picked well, I would have selected him for her myself-  but there is a sense of loneliness and sadness in the midst of so much joy.   There is a bit of fire I'm fighting back as I settle in to the new normal.  

My son is growing up.  He is amazing.  I watch him and I am so proud of the man he is becoming.  Lately he's had to make some tough choices and he's gone through some struggles and he's handled them with such grace.  He is my gentle summer rain.  It is every mother's wish to raise a child to become a giving, caring, responsible, thoughtful, independent adult.  But, when you do your job well you are setting the stage for them to leave.  It's rain meeting fire.  It creates this beautiful and painful middle ground.

There are other fires and rains meeting in my life.  Tumor markers go up and tests are ordered yet my husband is alive and well today and we are lucky enough to truly enjoy each others' company in this now very quiet house.  Cancer is a fire, choosing to find the blessings that lie beneath it is rainfall.  

Pine cones only release their seeds under the pressure and heat of fire.  Fire creates new growth.  Rain allows this growth to create beauty all around us.  This fire and rain in my life is creating beauty.  I have to allow the pain and joy to coexist if this is to happen.

I was given a precious gift recently- a bowl of amazing rocks.  Rocks are not harmed by fire.  Rocks withstand the heat and pressure and the rains come and wash them clean. The rocks have been a symbol to me lately and I held one tightly as I cleaned my daughter's empty room and when I pondered next week's tests and results.  The rocks remind me that this fire will not consume me, and the giver is a gift in my life.  She is a rock for me when I feel I may crumble.  She stands at the point where fire meets rain daily and she knows the beauty and pain.  

We are small and not as strong as we think we are.  I believe that is why God provided friends and rocks and weddings and daughters and sons and fire and rain.  He knew I would need all of these things to make my way in this life and I am thankful for them- even when I don't want to be. The fires rage on but I am choosing today to face the rain and receive its soothing.

Ode to my Son on the Eve of Seventeen

Since he was born he's been swinging for the fence. He took the bull by the horns and decided to make his arrival early. When we made him wait he settled in and dug in his heels- part compliance, part ornery.  He had to be coaxed out and he took his good old time arriving.  It's okay, he was worth the wait.

His father immediately welcomed his future baseball player.  But, we should have known Ryan had his own plans.  He did not like baseball as a young child.  In fact, he showed no interest at all.  Dad suffered in silence as he indulged skateboarding, football, video games, and swimming.  I still clearly remember the day- in Ryan style at the last minute- that he came home and announced that he thought he'd like to try out for baseball at the age of 11.  He missed the t-ball days and little league days but Dad made up for lost time quickly.  The bats were purchased, gloves were oiled, buckets of balls were collected.  He made the majors with two weeks of baseball under his belt.  He came to it naturally.  The sport fit him like a glove.

Though a natural player, baseball did not come easily.  His first season was tough as he learned rules and tried out positions.  We have many entertaining stories of the patience his coaches displayed and their willingness to let him try out anything.  The boy carried every piece of equipment with him in his bag just in case.  When his team ran out of catchers toward the end of the season he begged "Put me in, Coach!" and his coach reluctantly announced, "I'm going to let Ryan catch."  Ryan and his coach survived the rest of the game, we all discovered the kid could catch a bit, and we all laughed. 

Ryan didn't connect with the ball at first but he always swung with conviction, aiming for the fence.  He did get his first home run that first season.  I stared with amazement before sprinting to the parking lot to get the ball.  It is in a display case in his room, joined by a few others over the past years.  

Ryan has done many things over the last five years that have made me proud.  They aren't the things he might think they are.  Ryan is a team player.  You won't find one more supportive of his fellow players.  I love that about him.  He spends extra time working with the younger boys- remembering that first season and what it was like for him.  Ryan is respectful to adults.  Coaches tend to discredit him because he came to the game later and he is younger than his grade level peers.  One or two have been cruel.  He has never uttered a disrespectful word on the field to a coach or a referee.  (He's not a saint, I'm sure he has said some choice things in the dugout.)  He keeps his head up when the game isn't going his way and he takes many things in stride always believing his time is coming.  And, Ryan always swings for the fence knowing that parking lot is out there and I'm always ready to sprint to retrieve the ball.  


I've been watching Ryan lately.  It's not been an easy start to the season.  He's had good days and bad.  He's struggled to make his hits and pitches at times.  It's not the start he wanted.  He has an incredible amount of talent, potential, and passion and I am certain it will burst forth soon.  For now, he's learning life lessons through baseball- and teaching me a few at the same time.


I hope I always support those who follow behind me and walk beside me.  I hope I am always respectful in public situations.  I hope I can learn to take things in stride.  And, most of all, I hope I always swing for the fence.


Cancer has thrown us a few curve balls.  We've swung and missed twice.  But, we've put on the rally caps and as Ryan has taught us we will swing for the fence.  It's time for a home run and some celebrating.  


Happy Birthday, Ryan!  Keep swinging for the fence.  You're going to change the world around you.  Just look how you're changing me!


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tmeMljNdvDo

Decorating is no Piece of Cake

 My daughter is getting married.  Wow, yeah she is getting married in 18 days.  We recently had a shower for her.  A dear friend recognized how crazy and overwhelming our life is and agreed to help me organize the shower.  Then, she and her mom pretty much lovingly took it out of my hands and threw an amazing party.  My only job was to get the cake.  I insisted on taking that duty.  It was the least I could do.  

My daughter is not particularly fond of cake.  She asked for one from a local retail store's bakery so I obliged.  I went to the bakery section and there was a very cheerful young lady decorating cakes behind the counter.  I selected one and asked her to write "Congratulations, Kylea" on it.  I could not see behind the counter and she worked with a big smile and walked around the end of the counter to hand the cake to me with great pride.  The cake was beautifully decorated and said, "Happy Birthday, Kylea".  She was so proud of her work and, admittedly, it was beautiful.  I just did not have the heart to tell her it was wrong.  I accepted the cake and Kylea and I walked away to burst into laughter.  You see, this is the metaphor for our life.  We want "congratulations" but we often lovingly and carefully get "Happy Birthday" and have to learn to deal with it.  

I decided to keep that cake and tell the fun story and just get a smaller one for the shower table.  So, we went to a local grocery store bakery.  I asked the young decorator to write "Congratulations, Kylea" and you can see how that worked out for us above.  The young lady handed it to me a little less proudly this time realizing it was an epic failure and not quite knowing how to handle it.  I took it and yes, I paid for it. I don't know if I was dumbfounded or if I simply just didn't want to ruin a young person's day by complaining. By this time my daughter and I were shedding tears of laughter.  The metaphor continued. 


Later that afternoon as we puzzled about what to do with two cakes, neither acceptable for a beautifully prepared table at a shower, Kylea had a brainstorm and we made a trip to the florist.  Here is what resulted:

She did a fantastic job of making lemonade out of lemons.  And, in the end, the cake tasted wonderful and all was well and we came away with a great story to share. We made some great memories that day and we learned a lot about life from those two cakes.


You see our journey with cancer has been two cakes.  We were sailing smoothly and we found out about the cancer, our first cake.  It was not at all what we wanted but we accepted the challenge and fought and came out on the winning side.  However, the second cake (round two of the cancer journey) arrived and it was an epic fail.  Cancer on the liver was not the cake we wanted at all.  I would like to believe, though, that how we have dealt with both rounds of cancer thus far is a beautiful flower covered cake and that we have made memories full of laughter along the way. Cancer is not a piece of cake but it can be beautiful some days if we let it shape us and decorate us along the way.

Just a Rant...

Forgive me but I'm going to have a little bit of a rant and I am using the metaphor of red to begin- red is anger, red is ranting, red is fury, red...  I'm seeing red.... 

I've grown exceptionally weary of one word this week-  just-.  Not just as in fair, but just as in only.  Oh, you're just getting one chemo drug (i.e. dose of poison) this week.  You have just twelve weeks left of treatment.  You just have to drive 90 miles.  You just have stage III cancer.  You just have one site of metastasis.  You just lost some of your hair.  You're just tired.  You've just got infection in two of your fingers.  You just have to get through the summer.  You just have three hours in the clinic today. 

We use "just" to minimize things.  It is well meaning and well intended.  We want to downplay and make things better.  I know I've employed this with my own children.  Last week when my son was buried in homework I told him he just had to get through a few more weeks of school until summer.  It was meant to be positive and encouraging.  He gave me the look that let me know it was neither of those things.  He was having a real crisis.  He was in real stress.  There was nothing "just" about the situation.   He wanted validated not minimized.

Because we use the word "just" to minimize there are situations where it is incredibly demeaning.  I tread lightly here because I am still a bit raw but this week I was referred to as "just a teacher".  If you are reading this and are a teacher or love a teacher or value education the hair on your neck just stood on end.  It sounds so negative to be just a teacher.  I've never once heard Brett's doctor referred to as just an oncologist.  I've never heard anyone say, "You've just got cancer."  But, yes, I'm just a teacher.  I won't lie.  I became internally angry at the comment.  Then I tried to rationalize that this person didn't really mean it the way it sounded (but I think they did).  I then entered into this phase of deep contemplation wondering how many times I have been guilty of minimizing someone's calling, career, passion, choice.  I'm certain I'm guilty.  I'm certain that it hurt when I did it.  I have come to hate the word "just". 

I've been thinking a lot about my electronic footprint.  What do I want left behind for people to discover when I'm gone?  They say if you post something on the internet it remains forever.  That's a heavy thought, especially for someone who processes "aloud" by blogging and baring their soul.  I don't share this rant to point a finger at someone.  My hope is to challenge myself to choose my words carefully.  I don't want to take for granted what someone is going through.  I don't want to minimize someone's choices and accomplishments. 

So, if this post becomes part of my electronic footprint and my legacy what would I want people to know?  First of all, you can never just have cancer.  It encompasses every aspect of your life.  It overshadows every day, every action, every decision.  You can never just put it away for awhile.  You have to acknowledge this and work within it.  You have to surround yourself with those who are positive and supportive and allow you to rant, to cry, to laugh, to share.    Secondly, I'm just a teacher.  Cancer is just a teacher.  It changes you forever.  It teaches you to align your priorities and count your blessings.  It teaches you to treasure life and breath and sunshine and laughter and time.  It teaches you to reach out to others and to open yourself up to others who want to help.  Cancer is a powerful teacher.  If I can have even one tiny speck of that impact upon my students then I am happy to be just a teacher. 

The Quilt

When I was little we'd make the trip to Portsmouth, Virginia, to see my grandparents.  We would stay in what I thought was their mansion (it had two floors!) and I would sleep under one of my grandmother's quilts.  I would wake to my grandfather's whistling and the smell of bacon and sausage cooking.  I would lie under that quilt and smile.  Even at a tender age something told me to stay and savor the moment.  When Grandma passed my father went to Virginia and asked if there was anything I wanted and I asked for a quilt.  Throughout the years during hard times in life I still wrap up in my grandmother's quilt.  For a while it continued to smell like her house and I was afraid to wash it.

I've heard it said that God's plan is like a quilt.  He is crafting something amazing and we only see the messy underneath.  We see the stitching and piecing together and one day we will see the quilt in all of its glory.

I received news last night and it has my mind  wandering.  I look at my nearly seventeen year old son and I wonder.  If I truly understood and accepted that time on Earth has limits would I have held him a little closer and smelled that wonderful newborn smell just  a few minutes more?  Would I have rocked him to sleep one more time or walked holding his tiny hand just one more time than I did?  Would I have put down my own work to snuggle and play?

If I am truly to understand that time has limits is it so bad that I now slip him an extra $20 for lunches when I think his dad isn't watching?  Will I remember to treasure his birthday in a few weeks and to take it all in - stay and savor the moment a little longer?  Will I sacrifice all that I can to help him pursue his dreams and be there to support him?  Will I remember not to be too upset when I go downstairs to find him playing video games in his underwear amidst dirty clothes and dirty dishes?  Will we laugh at every chance we get?  Will I treasure those kisses on the forehead I'm still blessed to receive?

Mothers should not lose their sons.  Cancer should not be allowed to take the ones we love.  Life is messed up- it's the messy underside.

Lord, I beg today for a glimpse of the beautiful quilt you are creating.  I would like to see but one square and your careful stitching to reassure my soul of what is to come and how it will all make sense one day.  If it is not your will that I be allowed to see the beautiful side I pray you envelope me in the messy underside and allow me to learn to be still in your comfort, to seek the smell of your house, and to listen carefully for your whistling.

A Ray of Sunshine and a Lost Soul

Yesterday was chemo Thursday.  College finals are complete for my daughter so she decided to come with Brett and me at the last minute.  She and I planned to plant Dad in his chair and go for a nice run in the sunshine.  As we entered the chemo room we were greeted by a bald young woman with a radiant smile.  She immediately began talking to us, asking questions, showing us the ladybug pillow the children she babysits gave her.  Kylea and I left for a run feeling a bit sad.  Here was a young woman Kylea's age hooked up to chemo and looking a bit ragged.  

When we returned an hour later this young woman was still going strong. She continued to come up with one liners keeping everyone on their toes.  She asked questions and no topic was off limits.  She asked Kylea and I why we run when no one is chasing us. She tried on wigs on her way to the bathroom and selected the one with really long hair for a picture- claiming she wanted to be in an 80's hair band.  As we laughed her mother asked if I would  like to see a picture of her "before".  She shared her senior picture- long brown hair in waves down to her waist.  

This young lady then settled in and, finding Kylea to be the same age and to have an unusual amount of things in common, she began to share her story.  Six weeks ago she was suffering from abdominal pain and nausea.  Her doctor ran tests and told her she was pregnant.  She said that was very exciting because it was impossible and she always wanted to be part of a miracle.  A week later she found herself in the ER and was diagnosed with a very rare germ cell tumor in her abdomen that had ruptured and caused internal bleeding.  After surgery she is now going through chemo for four cycles.  She lost her ability to have children and faces a lifetime of hormone replacement therapies.  She's receiving transfusions and spends a lot of time in a recliner these days.  She had to withdraw from college temporarily due to time and money constraints.  She lost her hair, that amazing hair.  She lost weight- she reported being 150 lbs. and what we met was a very petite and frail young lady of maybe 100 lbs.  

Her story could have been so sad but she would not allow it.  She infused humor.  She spoke of the blessings she had.  She told of how she had struggled to pay for college and now thanks to a very rare cancer she'll get lots of scholarships to attain her goal to be a pediatrician.  She laughed.  She teased.  She was so open and honest.  She asked another lady why she was in treatment and when the lady explained her breast cancer battle (a primary tumor on each side) she looked at her and said, "Well, excuse me, but... crap".  We all just burst out laughing.  She continued to say that no one expects cancer and it always blindsides you.  

Kylea and I went outside to seek the sunshine but we found it in the chemo room.  

Now, a lost soul...  After such an amazing day yesterday it was difficult to turn on the news today and hear of a woman in Florida who faked breast cancer to get financial help to pay for implants.  Really?  She preyed upon hospice workers to make donations.  I'd like to assume that this woman has never been touched by the devastation of cancer and that she acted out of total and complete ignorance.  If this is the case I hope part of her restitution is to care for cancer patients in some form.  And that's all I have to say that is appropriate for print.  Poor lost soul.