and a little child shall lead them…
I took this picture a couple of weeks ago…not meaning to intrude on this child’s prayer, but at the same time knowing there was power in that moment. Power I didn’t want to forget.
The Spirit is near those who search…
Two weeks ago today, my husband had major surgery. He spent that
night in ICU; I sat wide eyed in the recliner near him, our children waited a few doors away. Tonight, we are all home to sleep in our own beds.
Our family is together in a familiar place. Trite or not, there’s no place like home.
When I stop to consider all we’ve seen during these last two weeks (much less the weeks leading up to these days), I really do pause…
Today was a good day filled with phone calls, visits from family and friends, more messages. A day at home.
We are aware of Christ’s presence.
We all went about our day today completing errands, making lists, taking walks, looking once again through new eyes.
The best parts? No needles, no IVs, no hospitals.
The hummingbirds are back. They waited for us, it seems. Belle’s winter coat is coming off in clumps. She waited for her brushing. Queen stays close to the kitchen door.
There were moments today for real life living: vacuuming, cleaning toilets, walking barefoot to the kitchen and feeling the smoothness of old oak underfoot.
Now I sit in my favorite chair, taking in the moments of the day.
Some routines of our days have changed, to be sure. But we are blessed with one another, with praying friends, and with a determination to greet each day with hope.
It’s brought us this far.
Will the days that follow be as uneventful? Time will tell.
It’s likely this is just a respite. The needed calm before a coming storm.
So, here I am to remind you, dear reader: take it all in. The red of the geranium on the front steps. The comforting whirr and clinking of the dishwasher. The mail on the counter.
Be grateful for tending to the smallest things.
You never know what you’ll tending to two weeks from now…
Today is Memorial Day. I’ll use this space to honor the memory of two special men: Thomas Franklin Sorsby and Lucian Anthony Tirrito, my father and father-in-law, respectively.
They were veterans. But above that, they were men. Adding the word good seems redundant.
They were kind, fair, patient, and honest.
Their eyes twinkled when they laughed.
And that was often.
They loved America.
They loved me.
They came in and out of my life in a flash.
I knew Daddy eleven years; Papaw for fifteen.
But it was long enough to know the blessing they were.
Cherish your loved ones.
It’s been a week of surprises. Well, more than a week.
Good days and challenging ones.
I’m thankful there was a mix, at least. The challenging ones didn’t come all in a row.
I learn more every day about resilience, the human spirit, tenacity.
I learn about the goodness that lives within us, and I learn that some people have no filter, no boundaries. They are concerned as long as it doesn’t interfere with their lives.
I’ve surprised myself at what I can take, and even more at what I will not.
There is a transparency that accompanies a cancer diagnosis. It is visible to only some, though.
There is no way to explain the nuances of a day, all the things that are said and that happen, each one adding or subtracting from the total environment.
Some good surprises:
recovery progress in full swing;
conversations with many excellent and caring doctors;
visits from family, friends and colleagues;
mail deliveries;
friends who offer their individualized form of comfort through messages, cards, art, verses, photos, texts;
the interconnectedness among us that reminds me God’s hand is here…contacts, help, knowledge at perfect times;
Some not so good surprises:
Some patients don’t want to get well. They just want to be victims and whine. I’ve seen them here…watched them be cajoled and prodded along by some very good nurses. I want to wring their necks.
I mention this because even the petty shows up during this time. Some people are like rubberneckers at a car wreck. Some say stupid things like You look tired. Well, if you stayed around the clock at a hospital for almost three weeks, you’d look tired, too. I promise. The funny thing is, this is how I look with no makeup. So sorry to disappoint…
Then, some people are more interested in my job than my family. If they aren’t asking about it, they are out trying to get it. Amazing. Truly, people.
Of course life goes on and plans have to be made. In this circumstance, however, someone heard about my family’s situation and used it as an opportunity. Interesting days.
Nothing surprises me anymore.
Meanwhile, I’ll end today with this truth:
We are all going to leave this world. The time may or may not be a surprise to us, but it’s coming. I’ve had many reminders of this throughout my life.
So, I know the petty things don’t matter. They are no more than distractions.
What matters is our faith, our family, our time together. Luckily for us, we’ve always protected those things. It comes as no surprise that those are what sustain us now.
Every day, a blessing. Here are five from the past few days, all hospital related this time, of course…I’ll start with a bonus one:
Witnessing God’s love for us as He sends us the right thing or right person at the right time. Every day.
Now, five more…
Medical personnel…every last one from the housekeeper to the techs to the nurses to the surgeons…they listen to us, laugh with us, encourage us, care about us.
Visits from friends. When people make an effort to come to a hospital, especially out of town, you notice. We have had more than our share, and I’m determined to pay that forward when I can.
Diversions: coffee, ice, gift shop, art on walls, walks, picture windows. All within these walls.
Drop off/ pick up laundry service. Same day, folks. Right across the street.
Jason’s Deli delivers to the hospital. If you’ve ever spent two weeks plus eating cafeteria food, you know this deserves placement on the list.
I’ll end with one more, and I know that’s seven:
Milestones…more every day. Thank you, Lord.
I’m a day late with this post. Busy doing some mental escaping.
I like this week’s photography challenge because I have already written about how the art here helps me.
This piece reminds me of home. Our pond. The ducks that fly in. The colors of the leaves.
Hoping to get back there as soon as we can.
Many thoughts run through my mind these days.
Some I share here, some I don’t.
Unless you have been a caregiver for a sick loved one, you cannot know what it is like.
Every day is different.
At every turn, there are surprises. I don’t even mean medical ones.
People are just funny. And strange.
My husband is a private person in many respects. You won’t see me posting pictures of him walking up and down the halls. You won’t read specific details of his illness here. After all, those are his details to share. Or not.
I’m a participant in his journey, but here, in this space, my goal is not to tell his news. It is not a place for updating the world on his journey.
My goal for this blog in these days is to keep recording for me. It may seem relevant. It may not. The act of writing right now is an act of defiance toward cancer. It is one of my many ways of coping. Others? Prayer, laughter, art, poetry, conversations.
This blog celebrates its 10 month birthday tomorrow. My goal was to write something here each day for a year, then sort through it all to see what it all meant. My goal was to encourage.
Themes started to emerge: God, family, friends. Art, writing, nature.Teaching.
Spirituality. Hope.
The big surprise theme right now is cancer. Somehow, though, encouragement is determined to win.
This blog was never intended to be a place for voyeurism, particularly at the expense of human dignity and privacy.
The people who need to know specifics already know.
I have a record of his journey, but it is for my eyes. If there comes a time I think it would benefit someone who also fights this disease, I’ll share it.
What matters has nothing to do with details like names of medicines, names of doctors, numbers of stages, particulars of treatment.
What matters is knowing that our family and friends are supporting my husband in his effort to get well.
What matters is that today we celebrated another milestone.
What matters is the sunset we watched tonight. Then, the moon through the window.
What matters is the prayers that are said. Really, that is the only thing that matters…
So, I’ll end with one tonight:
Heavenly Father,
Thank you for the gift of family and friends. Thank you for the people who look here for comfort or inspiration.
Thank you for the reminder that you alone are what matters.
You guide us, lead us, care for us in every situation. It does not matter what people ask or think or say. What matters is that your will be done.
Amen.
A blog reaching out to victims of abuse and others in need, providing insight about abuse, hope for the future, and guidance to see THE LIGHT that lead Secret Angel out of the darkness of her own abusive situation and helped her to not only survive but to overcome.
agnestirrito 