The sun has finally come out today. And, even though it was still gray outside until just a few minutes ago, it was already less gray on the inside today . . . thanks to those who love and care for me. I am so blessed to be surrounded by so much love. So, I need to just get over this crap. Yesterday I went to dinner with my Dad who is having a medical test right now (please say some prayers for my Dad). After dinner we went to see my sister-in-law’s father who is in a cardiac care unit after having suffered a heart attack.
I think he is going to be fine, but, please keep him in your prayers too. They did an angioplasty and successfully placed a stint where he needed one and is expected to do well. He looked well, but, has clearly been through a lot. I got to see him on Wednesday too . . . someone very dear to me drove quite a ways to take me to see him (you’ll recall that I no longer have a car to drive). Having spent so much time in hospitals in the past year and a half, I know how much it means to have someone take the time to visit. Anyway, that is love, dropping what you are doing, what you would rather be doing, to drive someone – me – to see a friend in the hospital. So thank you . . . you know who you are
During our visit last night, he was telling stories, talking about some of his family history . . . great grandparents and relatives who had fought in the civil war, connections to Buffalo Bill Cody (one of his family names is Cody) and telling my Dad that he shouldn’t forget to put the names of family members on the backs of photos from the past . . . or else our history will be lost one day. Clearly thinking about mortality . . . something I know a bit about.
I really think he is going to be fine. I certainly pray for that. But, I know that he has had a life changing experience. I could tell that he was thinking about death, about what his daughter would never know of their family history if he were not to make it home and about his only grandson, my nephew . . . what he would never know. So, he told these stories and told my Dad he needs to go home and identify the relatives in a photo from a family reunion that took place when my Dad was 17 years old.
On the way home, my Dad talked about old family pictures and that he wanted to go through these photos with me. I hope we will. I will make the time. I remember old pictures of my Dad with army buddies and pictures of him with family members who passed long before I was born . . . family members and friends whose names I would not know.
It is strange thinking of these things. It was sad to see my sister-in-law’s dad confronting thoughts of death. I remember just weeks after my diagnosis and realizing there was the potential that someday my family and friends would be going through my things . . . and I was struck by what they would find . . . and what I would want them to find or not find. I think we all think that way when we are facing the possibility of dying. And, I think to face that and to live past it is truly a gift . . . and, maybe, it is also just a little, tiny bit of a curse as well.
Mostly it is a gift though because you have the opportunity to take steps to change the direction of your life if you want to.
I did hide something before I started treatment . . . I hid lyrics to songs I wrote over the years. I don’t know why that was the thing that I did not want anyone to see in the event that someone were to be going through my things . .. but, it just was. And, now? Now, my chemo brain doesn’t remember where I stashed those songs. Funny. I am sure it will surface . . . and now, I am fairly certain that I will be the one to find it
Life is good.
Much love and peace,