When I was about five years old I was climbing on the
bathroom counter to get something out of our medicine cabinet.
We had an old fashioned mirrored glass medicine cupboard
that opened and shut like a door.
The edges of it were also very sharp and pointy.
As I finished grabbing whatever it was I needed from the
cupboard I started to slip and fall backwards off of the
counter and I reached up quickly to grab something to
stop my fall.
Unfortunately what I ended up getting was the very sharp
edge of the glass door and slicing my thumb wide open.
I clearly remember the incident, as traumatic as it was,
What I don't remember very well is the middle part.
The trip to the ER.
Stitches and bandages.
I still have the "L" shaped scar on my thumb from
the top to the middle of my thumb where it was sliced
It measures a good 2 inches.
However, what I DO clearly remember next is the "after".
We came home and my mother gathered me in her lap
in her favorite rocking chair and while I held
my bandaged thumb out in front of my body...
...My mother snuggled me close to her body to comfort
me and she did what she did best.
She got some books and read to me.
Perhaps it was to soothe my mind.
Or her mind.
But she held me close and rocked me and read to me until
it was time for bed and my spirit and mind had been calmed.
I was comforted by the fact that someone who loved
me had gathered me in and rocked me and eased my
mind with distraction.
And it worked.
Today we head off to the Doctor to see if there are any
To be honest, we are not expecting good news.
Kyle has had a pretty rough week and we have been
around the block more than once with this cancer--
watching people we know die, researching (way too much)
online, and just living with cholangiocarcinoma for
20 months now.
Maybe we'll be surprised. I suppose anything is
possible, but we both sort of feel like we know
the direction we're heading.
And that's super hard, even though we knew it was coming.
And so we ask for comfort and strength.
Because we're practical like that and we know that
there really are no miracles with this cancer-
people don't just spontaneously heal from it--
it just doesn't happen and it's never something we
thought we "be" anyway.
That doesn't mean someone else can't hold out for the
miracle, it just means we are not the ones doing it.
However, just like when I was five and scared and hurting,
we're both kind of scared and hurting.
Grief is cutting deep into our souls once again.
It weighs heavy on our hearts and tears keep slipping,
unbidden, from my eyes at all the worst times.
We need the love and comfort and strength from those
around us to buoy is up.
We need a warm lap to figuratively crawl into and
we need to be rocked.
Back and forth and back and forth.
And that's what I've got for today.