With the last of the Sunday sunlight filtering through, my favorite John Prine song starts playing. I take in the view of my thundering beats entangled. Things I love – my family, Sundays, filtered sunlight, beautiful sunsets and John Prine…
I sit back, curl my legs beneath me and smile with knowing tears through the familiar words…
Gonna be a long Monday
Sittin’ all alone on a mountain by a river that has no end
It’s gonna be a long Monday
Stuck like the tick of a clock that’s come unwound again and again
I first put this evocation to words May 2013. I just reread and am compelled how much of it still resonates although the ‘Monday’ is very different now. Kind of takes my breath a little…
♥ sittin’ all alone on a mountain by river that has no end…stuck like the tick of a clock that’s come unwound – again & again
…….
this is the reality of the day – both sides of that railroad track – joy & sorrow running side by side
it’s the stride of finding sunshine in the view, the hope in the day, relishing the moment
it’s that rearview mirror – daunting if looked in too much – best to keep one foot in front of the other
it’s reminding ourselves – “these days” are the “best days” even when they’re not
it’s believing that the “again & again” of feeling “unwound” is not a test, nor a vain discipline – rather that heavenly hand finding a hold on our hearts & days (sometimes pulling, sometimes pushing, mostly quietly holding)
Maybe one day I will look back at this time and be able to give it a succinct word. In the throes of it though, there’s about a million that swirl around. I think most presently I’m a little stuck in, harping on, prone to the ‘still’ of this. Technically, ‘still’ sick, ‘still’ needing treatments, ‘still’ on lots of medications, ‘still’ mostly bald, ‘still’ tired, maybe ‘still’ in disbelief.
I’m googling all the time. Every twinge, symptom (loads of those – something new all the time), pain, cough – and endless stream of ‘is this ok? – am I ok?’ Normal as I knew it ceased to exist last October and I’m always hopeful Google can help me so I don’t have to call the on-call Oncologist AGAIN. Seems every time I do, I get prescribed a new medicine and the medicine bag’s currently at overflow.
I’m googling a lot about hair regrowth. I still miss my hair. I sleep in a t-shirt turban every night. I’ve found this to be comfortable, though I have to get the lumps just right so that I’m not sleeping on a ‘bump.’ I still stand in the mirror for a few minutes after I get out of the shower and ‘marvel’ at my head. I usually notice I’m making a resigned expression to myself – the scarves are pretty, the wig is pretty, my natural head is not pretty right now. Say what you will, but a girl likes to feel pretty and wayward, scraggly sprigs just aren’t. Sometimes I feel very vain and ungrateful in these thoughts. I have a host of other intact body parts that I try in tandem to be grateful for but thanksgiving is often eluded by disappointment.
I’m inspecting my eyelashes and eyebrows regularly. Google and others’ experiences I’ve read about have me pretty assured these leaving will be the final hair loss insult – they’re likely to fall out completely right after you’re done with treatments. Slowly running off my face and eyes must be the preparation I’m getting for that shock. Again, probably vain, but it’s what I’m thinking about.
My good days seem more tangled than they did. They’re not as far apart from the not-so-good ones it seems. This can be physically or emotionally – often both. I went to Wal-Mart this week for the 1st time since being diagnosed. It was a marathon trip – garden shop to grocery. So thankful I had Bubba with me for the company and the help loading and unloading. I was diminished somewhat the whole next day – exertion one day, achiness and fatigue the next. My energy is waning. This hurts my feelings.
I heard these words in a song recently and I thought they were beautiful-
I am a tree, my roots grow deep by the water.
Branches full, leaves are green, it’s never autumn.
So sweet, so sweet.
The beautiful magnolias in my backyard immediately came to mind. They are part of why I wanted this house. Their beautiful leaves are always green and branches always full. I tried to take a picture to capture these sentiments of strength-
I was trying to take the picture in a way so as not to get the maple growing to the left in the frame. That is the same maple I wrote about before. It’s leaves are gone and it’s branches are bare. I can smile through tears at what God is showing me in these trees. In my heart, I feel much like the magnolia. It’s how I choose to see myself and my life. In truth though, my reflection and reality is more like the maple in this season. The barrenness is undeniable.
I praised God for the timing of all this early on. I loved the poetry in the juxtaposition of seasons I would go through – fall, winter and finally spring. I am definitely in winter now in many ways. Certainly in the physical sense, mentally and emotionally as well. I feel apprehensive saying that. After I wrote last, I had many concerned for me and my state of mind. I think this scares those closest to me, those who know me best. To these ‘anchors’, I assure you that in the large part, ‘I’m ok’ – we knew this phase would likely come to pass and I thank you for being here for me. Your love, encouragement, funnies, hugs, smiles, shared tears, 4 letter words and mostly your prayers – they continue to be a stronghold through ‘winter’.
And like I said, I’m smiling through knowing tears at that barren maple ‘bumping up’ against my beautiful magnolia. I have to appreciate the joy being right against the sorrow – the blue sky and sunshine beyond and bigger than them both. Reminding me that sorrow may last for the night, but His joy comes in the morning – winter is upon me but spring will come. New life will be resurrected within me in all these ways that are diminished right now.
C.S. Lewis wrote, All joy reminds. It is never a possession, always a desire for something longer ago or further away or still ‘about to be.’
I feel the ‘still’ in that. I feel God close as ever in this hard place. I feel Him going down with me. I faithfully believe that like that maple, He is growing beauty from this, just not in ways that can be seen yet. This is a passage I read October 2nd of last year, the day of my biopsy…this came to me in the throes of the waiting and then knowing. I have probably read it 25 times more since…
My ‘house of cards’ was very prominent to me before all of this – likely too much so. That said, I believe this ‘trial’ is not in vain and I’m not being punished. He is with me and He is for me. That is my reminder in this as so much else fades away. That is the function of my joy I believe – to long for more of Him. When nothing else satiates or brings peace.
From that I’m forced to slow down, be more mindful, take hold of joy though the sorrow is keeping pace alongside. I stood out in the wind and 30 degree cold this morning to watch the sunrise from my front porch. It’s fitting that I can’t actually see it break the horizon – suburban living inhibits that, but I knew the moment it did – everything brightened because of it.
Shortly after, it filtered in, casting it’s morning glow throughout…
Today is a new day, the sun has risen and I know many hours will pass before it sets again. My watchword for 2016 that my mom chose ‘randomly’ for me is affixed to fridge calendar. A non-believer in coincidence or chance, I believe it to be perfectly chosen…
Winter is hard…this ‘winter’ especially so. There is little shame or hesitation to admit that at this point. This is a ‘long Monday,’ the longest yet. I’m holding fast – knowing the ‘again and again’ will wear me down and hurt my spirit. But the dawning and fading will happen each day and I’m faithfully praying those ‘songs of joy’ will be the ones my heart hears most ♥
SheWhoLovesTheSunshine 
I love you. That’s all.