Monday, Monday! Did you love the Mamas and Papas like I did? Today, I couldn't help thinking about them and their beautiful harmony as I dove right into the day. Monday. The start of a new week. They always seem to come so fast, don't they? It seems that Monday was just here and now it's here again. Oh Monday, Monday.
I've been really sick for the past two weeks with an upper respiratory infection and haven't felt like doing much at all...but today, Monday, I've felt a little better thanks to tons of TLC from my husband, lots of Vitamin C, and essential oils recommended by my daughter, Erin, who's a natural at home health care. I'm so thankful I can breathe again. For days I've had to keep my mouth slightly open just to be able to take in some air and at night, oh boy...I'm sure my mouth was opened wider and I probably snored because of it, poor Phil! But at least my nose isn't dripping like crazy and I can breathe. It's amazing how a little germ can make us feel so horrible, isn't it?
Monday. Today is an up day. The past couple of weeks have been down days just because I wasn't feeling well. It seems I've had a lot of "Yo-Yo" days lately. I don't know if that's really an official term, but I'm going to coin it here because it definitely describes my life. There have been many days where I've been up and many days I've been down...just like a yo-yo on a string. And sometimes, in between the ups and downs, I've just been twirling in a stationary position...
When I was a child, it was rare for me to get gifts from my Daddy. Oh, don't get me wrong...he worked really hard to provide for our family and most of my life he worked 2 jobs just to help make ends meet. But once I remember him giving me a yo-yo. It was one of the toys I'd seen advertised on TV back in the early 1960's. I'd watched in amazement as the seller performed lots of interesting tricks using the yo-yo and thought it would be great to have one of my own, so you can imagine my delight when Daddy pulled a bright red Duncan Imperial Yo-Yo out of his pocket one afternoon after he'd come home from work. He carefully slipped the little loop on his middle finger, and started yo-yoing right in front of my very eyes. I watched intently as the yo-yo went up and down the string. It was mesmerizing! But then, after Daddy had showed me how to do the standard yo-yo up and down traveling, he whisked the string into a triangle position and did something he called "rock the baby." Then, he thrust the yo-yo toward the floor and performed the "walk the dog" trick. I couldn't believe my eyes. My Daddy was a genius! I asked him where he learned how to do those tricks but I don't remember him ever answering me. He just grinned and slipped the toy off of his finger placing it into my palm and said, "Now you try it." It took me forever to figure out how to make it work. I'd get frustrated and run to Daddy to ask him to help me. He'd straighten out the string that I'd gotten all tangled up and then help me wind the yo-yo tightly again and finally...I did it! I was so happy when I was able to get the yo-yo to go up and down the string all by myself. I tried the other tricks but never could get the hang of them. I was so proud of that yo-yo and held onto it for many years.
Sometimes it seems like life is going along just fine, like when a yo-yo is traveling perfectly up and down the string and then other times, it seems like everything gets all screwed up and doesn't work properly, just like the first time I tried to yo-you all by myself. Last week was one of the screwed up weeks. I wasn't feeling well. I could barely breathe. My nose was running and I was coughing all over the place. I had no appetite and I couldn't sleep. I felt terrible and that doesn't even really describe it...but this week,it's a little better.
It's so easy to get discouraged when our health is jeopardized. Feeling physically well attributes greatly to our spiritual and emotional well being. I know for me, when I'm feeling physically well, things just seem to click right into place...everything runs smoothly and I am happy. On the other hand, when I'm feeling poorly...it seems everything goes wrong! Nothing works out and I get so discouraged. Sometimes I just want to curl up into a ball, go to sleep and never wake up. It would be so easy to do that but I know I can't.
No matter how good or bad I feel, I have to keep pushing through. I have to keep on fighting. I can't let my life be like a yo-yo with constant ups and downs. Those two extremes are not for me. I'd rather be stuck in the middle on an even keel than to be either up or down. The only way I know to balance the up and down days is to keep my focus on God. I've learned that when I am weak, He is strong. I can't always do things in my own power. I have to rely on Him to help me through.
Some days my physical pain gets so bad that I have to really take it easy. On those days, I try to do things that don't require much physical exertion. When the pain gets too bad, I take a pain pill and that helps, but I try not to take them unless I absolutely must. Thank goodness my oncologist knew ahead of time that I might need them!
In just a few days, I'll be another year older and even closer to 60 than I was last year. I've come to the sad realization that my body is slowly wearing out and I can't do the things I used to do any longer. I don't like it. I don't want it, but in the words of my youngest daughter, Jamie, "It is what it is." Oh to be young again and free from bodily aches and pains. Oh to have never been diagnosed with cancer! But it is what it is and there's nothing I can do about it.
I have had to catch myself lately though. I've made the mistake of saying, just in general conversation, "I have cancer." I don't claim that any longer! I don't ever want to hear those words come out of my mouth again. "Have" is a present tense verb, but my cancer is in the past. I need to learn to start saying, "I had cancer" and even more appropriately, "I had cancer, but it doesn't have me!" I don't want it to ever be an excuse. I want to continue to live my life as long as I can, as well as I can. Yes, I'm going to have some yo-yo days but I can lick it. I know it's going to take practice and they say practice makes perfect.
Monday, November 30, 2015
Wednesday, November 25, 2015
We have so much to be thankful for!
I remember seeing Mama tiptoe down the stairs in the wee hours of the morning to put the big bird in the oven. She'd always get up around 4 or 5 a.m. to be sure the bird would be done in time for lunch. After she'd slip it into the oven, she'd quietly pad back up the stairs to catch a few more winks before the household was awake. There was nothing better than smelling roast turkey wafting through the air. My stomach would begin to growl at the very thought of it and oh, how delicious that bird would be covered in Mama's homemade turkey gravy. Those were the days. When everything was ready and it was just a little after 12:00 noon, Mama would call us in to say grace. Daddy, Grandmother, my brother, sister, and I would pull up our chairs and we'd all sit around the table talking and eating. It was wonderful! Back then, I didn't realize how fast those years would slip away. I didn't realize how things would change after Grandmother and Daddy were gone and now, Mama is in a nursing home.
This morning, I got up early and mixed up the cornbread for my dressing. As I pulled out the ingredients, I remembered I'd given my cast iron skillets away to my daughters and I didn't have even one...what to do, what to do. Cornbread doesn't taste as good baked in a regular baking pan. There was no way it was going to have that wonderful, golden crust. It was tradition to bake it in an iron skillet just like Mama and Grandmother used to do. But alas, I'd have to make the best of it since I didn't have my cast iron skillet any longer. A regular baking dish would have to suffice. I gathered the ingredients necessary to make the cornbread and poured them into the baking dish, turned on the oven and waited for it to preheat. While the oven was coming up to temperature, I decided to go ahead and chop up my onions and celery. Thank goodness I have a food processor. I remember how difficult it was to chop all of those things by hand back in the day. Now, instead of it taking twenty or thirty minutes to wash and chop 3 onions and a large head of celery, I could have it done in just a couple of minutes. I'm thankful for modern conveniences like kitchen appliances.
The timer beeped telling me the oven was ready. As I slid the pan of cornbread in to cook, I could almost see, in my mind's eye, Mama pulling her big iron skillet of cornbread out of the oven. She always struggled to hold that big, heavy cast iron pan with her small, delicate hands but somehow, she managed. When she made her dressing, she never followed a recipe but I watched her and I learned all the secret ingredients.
There was always an abundance of food on our table at Thanksgiving. Although we didn't have much monetarily, Mama always found a way to make Daddy's paycheck stretch just enough to feed all of us. As a child, those are things you take for granted but as an adult, I look back and marvel. By the world's standards, we were very poor but how can you put a price on love? Everything we had was precious. We didn't have luxuries, only necessities, and often times, we didn't have those. At Thanksgiving, Mama always reminded us how blessed we were and how we should never take anything for granted. I remember her words well and have tried to instill them into my own children's hearts.
The smell of my cornbread filled the kitchen. I knew it would be time to take it out of the oven soon. Today I'd prepare one dish after another to take to my daughter's house for our gathering tomorrow. When the timer sounded, I took my potholders out of the cupboard and removed the hot, delicious cornbread from the oven. Placing it on the counter to cool, I moved on to my next task.
I gathered my container of sage, the salt and pepper, and cans of chicken broth. I'd mix up the dressing after I'd cooked a couple of pans of biscuits and the cornbread had completely cooled. I don't have a recipe for my dressing either. I've just stored it up in my memory bank and pull it out every year just before Thanksgiving. I made a mental note...one of these days I need to write it down to pass on to my children. They aren't ever around to watch me make it and learn what goes into it. I don't want our family traditions to slip away.
Later in the day, I'll mix together my special Hashbrown casserole and my fresh cranberry/orange salad. One of my daughters will make the sweet potato casserole this year along with green bean casserole. It seems we have the same things every year but that's what makes it special. Memories of our family gathered around a full table always provide such joy.
My husband is going to kill me! I need him to stop by the grocery store and pick up a few things that I've forgotten. I shoot him a text and pour on a little sugar coating to make it more palatable. "Honey, could you please run by the grocery store and pick up..." He always responds positively and I love him for that. Even if he doesn't really want to do it, he does. He's so good to me. I'm so thankful for him. Until I get the other ingredients, my cooking is at a standstill. I decide to make wise use of my time and head into my office.
Pulling up my emails, I find a nice surprise. I've received a notification from a cancer magazine telling me they're sending me a check for a recent article I'd submitted. It's really real! My first check for my writing will be coming soon! I'm an official, bonafide freelance writer! Oh, I've been writing for years and years, but this will be the first time I've actually been paid for my work. It's so nice to be able to do something I enjoy and reap the benefits from it at the same time. I'm thankful God has blessed me with the ability and desire to write.
Next, I decide to check Facebook. Every day my friends share about their lives through this giant social media network. Sometimes it's overwhelming to peruse their pages. It seems their lives are so much more full than mine but then again, I'm thankful for my life. I'm reminded, as I read through their posts, just how very blessed I am. Last year at this time, I wasn't sure I'd be around for the holidays. I'd been diagnosed with Stage IIB Invasive Ductal Carcinoma, a type of aggressive breast cancer that had metastasized into my lymph nodes. I was expecting to become very sick and die, but God had other plans. After my treatment and a time of extreme radiation fatigue, I got better. I am so thankful I've been doing well physically despite a few daily challenges like tiredness, swelling, and general malaise. Last year, my Thanksgiving celebration, though quiet and peaceful, wasn't something I really spent a lot of time dwelling on...this year is a different story.
As I spend the day before Thanksgiving cooking and preparing my favorite dishes, I'll travel back to sweet childhood memories. I'll remember the days of my youth with fondness and pleasure, savoring the holiday joy from years past. I'll count my many blessings from days long gone and add to them blessings from the present. As I mix and stir, blend and spread, I'll commit the sights, sounds, and smells to memory. I want to be sure I'll be able to recall them at a later date when I need them.
Tonight, when I go to bed, I'll drift off to sleep thinking about spending time with family tomorrow. I'll miss the ones who've gone on before me and I'll look forward to spending time with the loved ones still present.
Thanksgiving. What a great holiday! Of course, every day we should give thanks to our Creator for all the wonderful blessings He's bestowed upon us, but isn't it wonderful we have the tradition of celebrating with family on this special day of the year? We have so much to be thankful for and I don't ever want to take any of those blessings for granted.
There's a special quotation I'd like to share here that sums it up pretty well:
"I am grateful for what I am and have. My thanksgiving is perpetual…O how I laugh when I think of my vague indefinite riches. No run on my bank can drain it, for my wealth is not possession but enjoyment.” ~ Henry David Thoreau.
As you celebrate Thanksgiving tomorrow, think about your past but don't forget to be fully present in the moment. New memories await you. Do your best to count your blessings and be truly grateful. We have so much to be thankful for! God bless you and remember, you can always loosen the top button of your britches to make room for more! Eat up! Laugh! Have fun and celebrate big!
© bonnie annis all rights reserved
Monday, November 23, 2015
What do you say to a dying person?
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| Heather and her husband, Joe |
On the way to Texas, We planned to stop and visit our friend, Heather. I've written about her recently in several other blog posts. She is a young mother of 4 and is fighting for her life. She's dying of cancer. Originally, she was diagnosed with breast cancer about 4 1/2 years ago. The cancer has metastasized and moved into her brain, her liver, and other areas of her body. To put it bluntly, she's in really bad shape. She's been moved into the palliative care section of a large cancer hospital in Texas. She'd been moved there to receive the very best cancer treatment available.
When my son in law arrived late that night, he was so tired. My heart hurt for him. He'd driven all day to get here. It was 802 miles and I knew he was exhausted. I encouraged him to go to bed early and he did, but those few hours of sleep wouldn't be enough to rejuvenate him fully.
We started out on our journey to Texas in the wee hours of the next morning. It was dark, quiet, and chilly. We drove for several hours before the sun came up and were so thankful when it did. Traffic was light and we made good time, but the miles stretched on and on. Our plan was to stop at the hospital and visit Heather before going on my daughter's home.
When we arrived at the hospital, I was overwhelmed. This hospital was ginormous! I don't know how many floors or buildings it had but it seemed the hospital took up several city blocks. We walked and walked to find the elevators. Once inside the hospital, we traveled through a maze of hallways and floors to find Heather's room. When we finally reached it, we stood outside her door with trepidation in our hearts.
A sign on the door read "all visitors must wash their hands before entering." We turned to see a little sink and some hand soap just to the left. Both Caleb and I washed and dried our hands before gingerly knocking on the door.
An older woman greeted us and introduced herself as Heather's mother. A few seconds later, an elderly gentleman appeared and said he was Heather's grandfather. We said our hellos, shook hands, and watched as Heather's mom gently shook Heather's arm to wake her. The room was dimly lit but the curtains were open and sunlight streamed through illuminating Heather's face. Everything was silent except for the sound of the machine pumping pain medication into Heather's arm. Her relatives said they were going to leave for a little while and give us some privacy.
After they left, Caleb and I stood on either side of the bed just watching Heather for a few minutes. We didn't quite know what to say or do. Heather was still swollen and very jaundiced. She looked so sick and so weak.
Caleb was the first to speak and greeted her with fondness. Since Heather and I had never met in person, He introduced me to her. She thanked me for writing her over the past few months and for the knitted hats and shawl I'd made for her. We made small talk for a few minutes and then she asked me to hand her the remote control for the bed. She pressed the button to raise her head up so she could see better. I was surprised she felt well enough to do that.
We continued to talk and then, Heather cut to the chase. She asked us some really hard questions. She wanted to know why she'd been brought to M. D. Anderson. She said she felt like she'd just been brought there to die. She didn't want to be there. She wanted to be home. She was adamant about her feelings and very coherent in her thoughts. She told us the doctors had said if she went home, she'd have to have a hospital bed and she told us she didn't understand why...said she didn't want one and didn't think it would fit in the house anyway. We didn't know how to respond, so we just listened.
I chose my words carefully as I spoke to her. I knew she wanted answers to her questions but I didn't feel it was my place to give them. I could empathize with her because I too had been diagnosed with breast cancer. I tried to put myself in her place and thought about how I'd feel if I were going through the things she was going through right now. Yes, the doctors and medical staff knew she was entering the last stages of her illness and yes, more than likely, she'd been brought there to die but I couldn't tell her that. All I could tell her was that her family loved her and wanted her to get the best care possible. That's why they'd allowed her to be moved to the palliative care unit. (Palliative care focuses on symptoms such as pain, shortness of breath, fatigue, constipation, nausea, loss of appetite, difficulty sleeping and depression. It also helps you gain the strength to carry on with daily life. It improves your ability to tolerate medical treatments. And it helps you have more control over your care by improving your understanding of your choices for treatment. Palliative care helps to make the patient comfortable and that was just what Heather needed.)
While Heather was focused on negative things, we tried to turn them into positives but how do you do that when someone is expressing such anger over dying? There were no words to say. All we could do was just be there...just show up...just give our love and support. We couldn't fix it or make it better and that wasn't what we were supposed to do. We had just come as friends to show we cared.
We were shocked at her anger but were glad she felt she had the freedom to express it. We couldn't judge her for that, after all...who's to say we wouldn't feel the same way if we were in her shoes...if we knew our time was short, wouldn't we be angry?! As I listened to Heather speak, I noticed her words were slow and deliberate. She was weak and tired. Her body was wearing out but she was determined to share her heart. I felt so sorry for her and wanted to comfort her but she didn't want that...didn't need that, she just wanted to have her voice heard, so we continued to listen as she talked about what she did and did not want. The more I heard, the more I realized she was in the 2nd stage of grief - ANGER. I'd studied the five stages of grief many years ago and had witnessed various stages of it throughout my time as a lay counselor. My heart went out to Heather as she continued to talk.
Heather looked so uncomfortable as she lay there in the hospital bed. I asked if the doctors were being able to manage her pain and she told me they weren't. She was hurting A LOT. As soon as she said that, she asked me to hand her the call button and she rang for the nurse. When the nurse answered, Heather told her she need pain medication immediately.
The nurse came and administered Dilaudid and Hydromorphone, two extremely strong opiates used for severe pain management. It took a few minutes for the meds to kick in and for Heather to slowly begin to doze off.
Other friends arrived and we felt it was time for us to leave. We hadn't done anything to really help Heather other than to listen to her as she talked. We realized as we walked down the corridor toward the elevator that sometimes, all we're supposed to do is show up and that's just what we did. We were there. Heather knew we cared and that we loved her.
What do you say to a dying person? With an ill person, you can say "I hope you feel better soon," or "Is there anything I do to make you more comfortable?" or things like that. With a terminally ill person, the only thing I could think of to say is "I'm praying for you." Offering words of love and encouragement seemed so trite but necessary.
On the ride through Houston toward my daughter's house, I was quiet. I was trying to make sense of everything. It was hard to understand why God would allow such a young woman to die when she'd barely experienced life. Why had she been given a death sentence and why had I been blessed to receive life? We both had breast cancer...I didn't have the answers. I'm not God and I don't know why He has allowed this hard into her life. I am thankful that Heather knows Him. She told me she did and that gives me hope that she will have faith to trust Him even in the very difficult days ahead.
I couldn't help but think of Heather that evening as I went to sleep. I prayed for her and asked God to comfort her and to ease her pain. I also prayed for her husband and her children asking God to give them the strength to face their uncertain future. I know He will, but it will be extremely challenging for all of them.
It's been a week since I was in Texas. I'm back home now and every day I expect to get the phone call that Heather's gone home to be with Jesus. Since my return, she's been moved to another hospital into hospice care. Her family is staying in a hotel nearby so they can be close to her.
Heather's story is just one of the millions of women with breast cancer and I'm sure hers is similar to many of them. I'd be lying if I didn't tell you how scared I was as I stood beside her bed last week. All I could think was will that be me one day? I felt deep sadness as I watched her resting. Her skin a dull yellow color from the effects of a liver barely working, her smooth, round head lacking the lovely locks that once lived there, her swollen body curled underneath the sheets just wasting away, and the IVs providing medication to help her...all signs that cancer was winning.
Maybe I didn't do a good job of ministering love to her that day, but I sure hope I did. I tried. I did the best I could, but I really just didn't know what to say. All I could do was show up and that's what I did. I hope she knows I cared and I hope she knows I'll never forget her. God bless her heart. I take comfort in knowing when she gets to glory she'll have a completely healed and restored body...a new body that won't ever suffer any pain ever again and she will forever be in the presence of Jesus. That's what will allow me to be okay and get through this. It's so hard to watch one more woman succumb to the devastation of cancer. Oh how I wish we could find a cure. Maybe one day....
© bonnie annis all rights reserved
Thursday, November 12, 2015
Sometimes the hard is too hard
Today I had the honor and privilege of listening to my oldest daughter, Erin, share her heart with me. Yesterday, she'd had the opportunity to go and visit a very sick friend, Heather. Heather is dying from breast cancer that's metastasized into her brain and liver. I knew before Erin even began talking that this was going to be a difficult conversation to have with her. I know her heart, you see,...it's so tender and loving and kind.
"She was so yellow, Mama," she said. I knew what that meant...Heather was jaundiced. Her liver had completely shut down and her kidneys weren't functioning well. I've witnessed this phenomenon before in another dear friend as she was on her death bed. It's a shocking thing to see, especially when the entire body turns yellow and the whites of the eyes turn a deep, golden yellow too. It looks so unnatural and scary...alien-like. I felt so badly for my daughter. Sometimes the hard is too hard.
Isn't it only natural for mothers to want to shield their children from the hard, hurtful things in life? I wish she wasn't having to go through this, but I knew it was necessary. She'd wanted to go to the hospital to say goodbye to her sweet friend. She needed to be there. I didn't want her to witness the very ugly side of cancer, but she's strong, this daughter of mine. Underneath that tough exterior, though, that carries her through the hardest of challenges, she's got a heart of gold. She's loving and merciful, tender and caring. Her friends love her because she loves them so well and is always so giving of herself. She makes me proud.
And life isn't fair. We both wanted to scream this at the top of our lungs and we're wondering why...why would God allow such a terrible thing to happen to such a young woman...a woman with 4 little ones who love and depend on her...a husband who'll be lost without her, who hasn't even had time to think about grieving over the fact that soon she'll be gone because he's been so busy...busy trying to hold things together, trying to be the glue that makes the things that are important cohesive.
My heart broke for Heather, the young mother, who lay dying in a cold, sterile, hospital bed. This young woman all yellow and swollen and her body wracked with pain. This sweet friend that my daughter loved and wanted to spend more time with but the pain medication kept her doped up and groggy. So she mostly slept while Erin was there visiting. Numbed to the reality that soon she'll be no more...
Tears streamed down my face as Erin told me how she'd felt led to grab a bottle of lotion on the way out the door to see Heather that morning. She knows God speaks to us in a still, small voice. He was preparing her for something bigger and she obeyed. She knows how important the gift of touch is to someone who's in pain. I listened as she told me about massaging Heather's back for her and how, as she gently rubbed for hours, she silently prayed. That's my girl...a heart of gold. And then, when Heather's Mom came back into the room, she commented on how Heather looked so much better, not as yellow, and Erin was glad the massage had helped. She was glad she'd listened to the voice of God and had picked up that lotion. He had a plan and Erin had been His instrument.
Our conversation continued and I listened between the words to hear Erin's heart...a hurting heart. She knows what's coming and knows it's going to be devastating. And this reality of cancer hits too close to home, I knew what she was thinking...my Mom has cancer...this could be her one day...While in the hospital room keeping watch at her friend's bedside, Erin's thoughts are tangled. Her own little ones are home with their Daddy so she could come and be with her friend. She probably wonders if he's fixed them lunch yet and whether the smallest made it down for his nap on time and then she thinks about Heather's little ones who'll soon lose their Mommy and it's overwhelming...sometimes the hard is too hard.
But even in the midst of the hard, God gives His grace. He provides a way for us to be strong and hold on. He reminds us that we can do ALL things through Him because we don't have to rely on our own strength, we have Him to cling to and He provides. He knows the needs. He sees everything and even when it seems like life is so unfair and unjust and cruel, He always shows up...just in the nick of time. He's there with us. He never leaves us alone or forsaken.
Suffering is such a vital part of life. It teaches us things we can never learn without it. It teaches us to have compassion and patience. It teaches us to understand and let go of the things that don't matter. Suffering is a great teaching tool that God uses in our lives but most people don't see it that way.
"The doctors have said two weeks...two weeks is all the time she's got left," Erin said. But we both know they're only guessing, they aren't God. That time frame is just a reminder that Heather's time here is so very short, but then again, none of us are promised tomorrow.
The visit was over and it was time to say goodbye. Erin knew it was going to be a hard thing to say her final goodbye to her friend but she did it in the most beautiful way...she told Heather she loved her and was so thankful they'd become friends and then she prayed over her. Heather may or may not have heard all the words Erin said but I know she felt Erin's heart.
Yes, sometimes the hard is too hard, but God always sees us through it. He gives strength when we need it most and He orchestrates everything according to His plan. And when we look at life that way, we can accept and even welcome the hard that comes because we know He is all sufficient and He is the rock we can cling to when life seems too hard to bear.
Please, won't you say a prayer for Heather as she prepares to go home to heaven? Pray that God will allow her journey to be swift and free from pain. Pray for her husband as he prepares to face the reality that his wife will soon be gone. Pray for God to give him strength to face the difficult days ahead. Pray for grace as he walks through his own hard dealing with the overwhelming grief that will come. Pray for the little ones and for God to hold them close as they come to understand the finality of death. Pray for the community to surround all of them with love and kindness in the days ahead and for God's provision for all of their needs, financial, emotional and spiritual. And one last request, would you say a special prayer for my daughter, Erin, that God would continue to use her to minister His love to others who are hurting but that He'd also protect her heart as she walks through her own hard of learning to lose a friend graciously?
Thank you so much. I know you'll lift up these needs as God places them on your heart. Sometimes the hard is too hard but we must always have hope. May the God of all comfort be everything you need as you travel your own hard and may you never forget His promise to never leave us to face the hard alone.
© bonnie annis all rights reserved
"She was so yellow, Mama," she said. I knew what that meant...Heather was jaundiced. Her liver had completely shut down and her kidneys weren't functioning well. I've witnessed this phenomenon before in another dear friend as she was on her death bed. It's a shocking thing to see, especially when the entire body turns yellow and the whites of the eyes turn a deep, golden yellow too. It looks so unnatural and scary...alien-like. I felt so badly for my daughter. Sometimes the hard is too hard.
Isn't it only natural for mothers to want to shield their children from the hard, hurtful things in life? I wish she wasn't having to go through this, but I knew it was necessary. She'd wanted to go to the hospital to say goodbye to her sweet friend. She needed to be there. I didn't want her to witness the very ugly side of cancer, but she's strong, this daughter of mine. Underneath that tough exterior, though, that carries her through the hardest of challenges, she's got a heart of gold. She's loving and merciful, tender and caring. Her friends love her because she loves them so well and is always so giving of herself. She makes me proud.
And life isn't fair. We both wanted to scream this at the top of our lungs and we're wondering why...why would God allow such a terrible thing to happen to such a young woman...a woman with 4 little ones who love and depend on her...a husband who'll be lost without her, who hasn't even had time to think about grieving over the fact that soon she'll be gone because he's been so busy...busy trying to hold things together, trying to be the glue that makes the things that are important cohesive.
My heart broke for Heather, the young mother, who lay dying in a cold, sterile, hospital bed. This young woman all yellow and swollen and her body wracked with pain. This sweet friend that my daughter loved and wanted to spend more time with but the pain medication kept her doped up and groggy. So she mostly slept while Erin was there visiting. Numbed to the reality that soon she'll be no more...
Tears streamed down my face as Erin told me how she'd felt led to grab a bottle of lotion on the way out the door to see Heather that morning. She knows God speaks to us in a still, small voice. He was preparing her for something bigger and she obeyed. She knows how important the gift of touch is to someone who's in pain. I listened as she told me about massaging Heather's back for her and how, as she gently rubbed for hours, she silently prayed. That's my girl...a heart of gold. And then, when Heather's Mom came back into the room, she commented on how Heather looked so much better, not as yellow, and Erin was glad the massage had helped. She was glad she'd listened to the voice of God and had picked up that lotion. He had a plan and Erin had been His instrument.
Our conversation continued and I listened between the words to hear Erin's heart...a hurting heart. She knows what's coming and knows it's going to be devastating. And this reality of cancer hits too close to home, I knew what she was thinking...my Mom has cancer...this could be her one day...While in the hospital room keeping watch at her friend's bedside, Erin's thoughts are tangled. Her own little ones are home with their Daddy so she could come and be with her friend. She probably wonders if he's fixed them lunch yet and whether the smallest made it down for his nap on time and then she thinks about Heather's little ones who'll soon lose their Mommy and it's overwhelming...sometimes the hard is too hard.
But even in the midst of the hard, God gives His grace. He provides a way for us to be strong and hold on. He reminds us that we can do ALL things through Him because we don't have to rely on our own strength, we have Him to cling to and He provides. He knows the needs. He sees everything and even when it seems like life is so unfair and unjust and cruel, He always shows up...just in the nick of time. He's there with us. He never leaves us alone or forsaken.
Suffering is such a vital part of life. It teaches us things we can never learn without it. It teaches us to have compassion and patience. It teaches us to understand and let go of the things that don't matter. Suffering is a great teaching tool that God uses in our lives but most people don't see it that way.
"The doctors have said two weeks...two weeks is all the time she's got left," Erin said. But we both know they're only guessing, they aren't God. That time frame is just a reminder that Heather's time here is so very short, but then again, none of us are promised tomorrow.
The visit was over and it was time to say goodbye. Erin knew it was going to be a hard thing to say her final goodbye to her friend but she did it in the most beautiful way...she told Heather she loved her and was so thankful they'd become friends and then she prayed over her. Heather may or may not have heard all the words Erin said but I know she felt Erin's heart.
Yes, sometimes the hard is too hard, but God always sees us through it. He gives strength when we need it most and He orchestrates everything according to His plan. And when we look at life that way, we can accept and even welcome the hard that comes because we know He is all sufficient and He is the rock we can cling to when life seems too hard to bear.
Please, won't you say a prayer for Heather as she prepares to go home to heaven? Pray that God will allow her journey to be swift and free from pain. Pray for her husband as he prepares to face the reality that his wife will soon be gone. Pray for God to give him strength to face the difficult days ahead. Pray for grace as he walks through his own hard dealing with the overwhelming grief that will come. Pray for the little ones and for God to hold them close as they come to understand the finality of death. Pray for the community to surround all of them with love and kindness in the days ahead and for God's provision for all of their needs, financial, emotional and spiritual. And one last request, would you say a special prayer for my daughter, Erin, that God would continue to use her to minister His love to others who are hurting but that He'd also protect her heart as she walks through her own hard of learning to lose a friend graciously?
Thank you so much. I know you'll lift up these needs as God places them on your heart. Sometimes the hard is too hard but we must always have hope. May the God of all comfort be everything you need as you travel your own hard and may you never forget His promise to never leave us to face the hard alone.
© bonnie annis all rights reserved
Tuesday, November 10, 2015
Oh no...not, another one
"Her body is shutting down, the doctors said." I could hardly believe it as my daughter softly spoke those words into the phone. We'd been expecting it, but the words weren't easy to hear. As they sunk in to my heart, everything inside me wanted to cry out....NOOOOOOOO! NOT ANOTHER ONE. How many more young mothers would cancer steal from their families? And then I thought about myself. I was old. My children were grown and yet, the sting didn't hurt any less. Cancer's inevitable reality was getting too close for comfort. It was sneaking up on me. I was just 16 months into my survivorship.
For months, my oldest daughter has been loving on and ministering to this young mother and her family. (I won't share her name to protect her privacy.) There have been good days and bad days. On the good days, there's been laughter and joy. On the bad days, there's been silence and suffering. It's been a challenging time. A time for friends to rally and show their love. Hard lessons have been learned and grace has been extended. It's been a community effort. It really does take a village...
Although everyone knew this day would come, no one expected it to come so suddenly, but God works in mysterious ways. His timing is not our timing. He had planned and orchestrated every event to work into His plan perfectly. Who are we to question?
The family has gathered at their loved one's bedside. What do you say at a time like this? How do you comfort them? What can you do? Words seem so meaningless and why waste energy saying things that will never be remembered? Isn't love more important? Just being there...that's what really matters. Love...just love.
My heart is broken knowing this young mother will soon slip out of this world into eternity, but I am so thankful she knows the Lord as her Savior. She's struggled so much and fought a good fight. At least when she gets to glory, she won't have any more pain and her body will be completely healed. It seems almost trite to say that, but it's the truth.
I am grieved for her mother. How do you sit beside the bed of the precious one you carried inside your body for 9 months...your beloved child, and watch silently as her organs begin to shut down? How do you stay there and watch those labored breaths? Oh the pain and agony that mother must feel as her daughter slowly wastes away. I can't begin to imagine...
And her husband...how does he say goodbye to the love of his life? He's been beside her through all the cancer treatments, the medical tests, the hair loss, the sickness and fatigue. Does he find comfort in knowing it's almost over or does he beg for more time with her?
Then there are the little ones...the four babes who'll lose their Mommy. How will life look for them in the future? Will they remember her when they're older? So many questions, so little time...and we don't have the answers, but there is One who does. And He's the One who holds our lives in the palm of His hand...Jesus.
Life is so short. We're only here for a few brief moments and then we're gone. May every moment of every day you have left on this earth be one you hold precious. Never take any of them for granted because in a twinkling...in the blink of an eye...they'll be gone.
“That though the hard might come and our hearts be broken, that brokenness isn’t bad. The tears are evidence of our love for one another. They did not stop that day, and they will not stop in the days to come. But tears are a gift, not something to withhold or bottle up—they are the essence of the best of life.” ~ Kara Tippetts from her book, The Hardest Peace
.© bonnie annis all rights reserved
For months, my oldest daughter has been loving on and ministering to this young mother and her family. (I won't share her name to protect her privacy.) There have been good days and bad days. On the good days, there's been laughter and joy. On the bad days, there's been silence and suffering. It's been a challenging time. A time for friends to rally and show their love. Hard lessons have been learned and grace has been extended. It's been a community effort. It really does take a village...
Although everyone knew this day would come, no one expected it to come so suddenly, but God works in mysterious ways. His timing is not our timing. He had planned and orchestrated every event to work into His plan perfectly. Who are we to question?
The family has gathered at their loved one's bedside. What do you say at a time like this? How do you comfort them? What can you do? Words seem so meaningless and why waste energy saying things that will never be remembered? Isn't love more important? Just being there...that's what really matters. Love...just love.
My heart is broken knowing this young mother will soon slip out of this world into eternity, but I am so thankful she knows the Lord as her Savior. She's struggled so much and fought a good fight. At least when she gets to glory, she won't have any more pain and her body will be completely healed. It seems almost trite to say that, but it's the truth.
I am grieved for her mother. How do you sit beside the bed of the precious one you carried inside your body for 9 months...your beloved child, and watch silently as her organs begin to shut down? How do you stay there and watch those labored breaths? Oh the pain and agony that mother must feel as her daughter slowly wastes away. I can't begin to imagine...
And her husband...how does he say goodbye to the love of his life? He's been beside her through all the cancer treatments, the medical tests, the hair loss, the sickness and fatigue. Does he find comfort in knowing it's almost over or does he beg for more time with her?
Then there are the little ones...the four babes who'll lose their Mommy. How will life look for them in the future? Will they remember her when they're older? So many questions, so little time...and we don't have the answers, but there is One who does. And He's the One who holds our lives in the palm of His hand...Jesus.
Life is so short. We're only here for a few brief moments and then we're gone. May every moment of every day you have left on this earth be one you hold precious. Never take any of them for granted because in a twinkling...in the blink of an eye...they'll be gone.
“That though the hard might come and our hearts be broken, that brokenness isn’t bad. The tears are evidence of our love for one another. They did not stop that day, and they will not stop in the days to come. But tears are a gift, not something to withhold or bottle up—they are the essence of the best of life.” ~ Kara Tippetts from her book, The Hardest Peace
.© bonnie annis all rights reserved
Monday, November 9, 2015
Let your roots grow down deep
The mail had come and as I do every day, I walked down my steep driveway to retrieve it. As I was walking, I was praying I didn't slip and fall. It was drizzling rain and had been raining off and on all night. The driveway was covered in wet leaves and pinestraw, all of which were very slick and slimy. Last week, while going to get the mail, I slid on a wet leaf and did an amazing balancing act. Thankfully, I didn't fall on my bottom and hurt myself.
As I made my way down the drive, I heard some popping noises. At first, I thought someone was shooting a gun in my direction. (We live in a rural area and there are lots of hunters close by. In fact, we've numbed ourselves to the sounds of daily gunshots this time of year.) I turned my head in the direction of the sound and froze on the driveway. All of a sudden, the popping increased and then loud crashing sounds began as a large tree broke in half and fell. I was thankful the tree hadn't been closer to where I was standing. One minute the tree was standing and the next it was down on the ground. I guess all the heavy rain had caused it to give way.
Making my way back up the driveway, I noticed all the beautiful trees in my yard. There were oaks, pines, and maples. They were various sizes, some were over 100 feet tall and some only tiny saplings. Their leaves still clinging to the branches in a last ditch effort to evade the inevitable. I continued walking and couldn't help thinking more about the tree that fell. I wondered if it was diseased or if perhaps it had been infested with some kind of insects that had helped to weaken it. I came inside the house and pulled out my binoculars. As I zoomed in on the tree, I could see it was a large pine tree and it had broken midway down. Pine trees are notorious for having shallow roots but part of the trunk was still standing and that meant the roots had held.
A verse of Scripture immediately came to mind, "Let your roots grow down into Him, and let your lives be built on Him. Then your faith will grow strong in the truth you were taught, and you will overflow with thankfulness." Colossians 2:7. What a powerful verse!
Suddenly, I remembered a segment from Earth Science class. My high school teacher was talking about the root system of trees and he was explaining about the tap root. I thought it was very interesting. The tap root is the root that travels down the deepest and it seeks out water for the tree. It's a very important root. Smaller roots develop and branch off of the tap root but to kill the tree, the tap root has to be severed.
The more I thought about that verse, the more of a visual picture I got in my mind. I could see my roots growing down deep into Christ drawing sustenance up from Him. As long as my taproot was dipping into His goodness, my faith was growing and being strengthened. I could stand firm just like a good, healthy tree.
I lay my binoculars down on the desk. My neighbors were going to be surprised to find that big, broken tree lying in their yard when they came home from work later today. I'm sure they won't be too happy about having to hire someone to haul it off but I'm sure they'll be thankful it didn't damage their home.
It always amazes me how God uses little things like that tree breaking as I was walking down to the mailbox to speak to my heart. If we're attentive, He's always speaking. We just have to put ourselves in the mindset to always be listening for what He's saying to us.
© bonnie annis all rights reserved
As I made my way down the drive, I heard some popping noises. At first, I thought someone was shooting a gun in my direction. (We live in a rural area and there are lots of hunters close by. In fact, we've numbed ourselves to the sounds of daily gunshots this time of year.) I turned my head in the direction of the sound and froze on the driveway. All of a sudden, the popping increased and then loud crashing sounds began as a large tree broke in half and fell. I was thankful the tree hadn't been closer to where I was standing. One minute the tree was standing and the next it was down on the ground. I guess all the heavy rain had caused it to give way.
Making my way back up the driveway, I noticed all the beautiful trees in my yard. There were oaks, pines, and maples. They were various sizes, some were over 100 feet tall and some only tiny saplings. Their leaves still clinging to the branches in a last ditch effort to evade the inevitable. I continued walking and couldn't help thinking more about the tree that fell. I wondered if it was diseased or if perhaps it had been infested with some kind of insects that had helped to weaken it. I came inside the house and pulled out my binoculars. As I zoomed in on the tree, I could see it was a large pine tree and it had broken midway down. Pine trees are notorious for having shallow roots but part of the trunk was still standing and that meant the roots had held.
A verse of Scripture immediately came to mind, "Let your roots grow down into Him, and let your lives be built on Him. Then your faith will grow strong in the truth you were taught, and you will overflow with thankfulness." Colossians 2:7. What a powerful verse!
Suddenly, I remembered a segment from Earth Science class. My high school teacher was talking about the root system of trees and he was explaining about the tap root. I thought it was very interesting. The tap root is the root that travels down the deepest and it seeks out water for the tree. It's a very important root. Smaller roots develop and branch off of the tap root but to kill the tree, the tap root has to be severed.
The more I thought about that verse, the more of a visual picture I got in my mind. I could see my roots growing down deep into Christ drawing sustenance up from Him. As long as my taproot was dipping into His goodness, my faith was growing and being strengthened. I could stand firm just like a good, healthy tree.
I lay my binoculars down on the desk. My neighbors were going to be surprised to find that big, broken tree lying in their yard when they came home from work later today. I'm sure they won't be too happy about having to hire someone to haul it off but I'm sure they'll be thankful it didn't damage their home.
It always amazes me how God uses little things like that tree breaking as I was walking down to the mailbox to speak to my heart. If we're attentive, He's always speaking. We just have to put ourselves in the mindset to always be listening for what He's saying to us.
© bonnie annis all rights reserved
Saturday, November 7, 2015
Time to start living again
Every day I hear of another...sister, mother, wife, friend who's been diagnosed with breast cancer or one who's at the point of death. Will the number of breast cancer cases ever end? Will they ever find a cure? Will they ever find the cause? It's so frustrating because it seems it's more prevalent now than it ever has been before. And hearing of these new cases or these at the point of death continually reminds me that the fear of recurrence is lurking in the shadows. No matter how hard I try to keep those thoughts at bay, they're there...whispering to my subconscious mind.
Daily, I do battle. When I get up in the morning, I thank God that I was able to open my eyes and I thank Him for one more day...just one more day. I don't take my days for granted any longer, but oh boy...I surely used to. I never gave a thought to waking up, I just always assumed I would...but that was before cancer.
One of my daughters spoke some truth into my life yesterday. She told me it was time to start living again. Those words pounded hard into my heart. Time. to. start. living. again. They made me realize...when did I give up? When did I stop living? The more I thought about it, the more I realized I accepted the death sentence that was handed to me over a year ago. That fateful day in June, when I heard those three dreaded words over the phone - YOU HAVE CANCER....YOU. It was not someone else, it was me. I was the one who had cancer. ME. And that day, a little piece of my heart died.
I continued to let her words sink into my spirit. It's time to start living again. But how do I let go of the fear that continues to haunt me, to comfort me? Gosh, I can't believe I even said that...comfort me??? In some wickedly strange way, knowing I have, NO HAD, cancer has given me a reason to not do many of the things I used to do in the past. Was I using it as an excuse to not do things I used to enjoy? This was going to take some time to pour over. Surely, I wasn't doing this...NOT ME, NOT POLLYANA BONNIE...THE ONE WHO ALWAYS LOOKS AT THINGS WITH ROSE COLORED GLASSES... oh, but I was...
My social life has been non-existent since cancer. I've become AGORAPHOBIC. I've had a horrible fear of being out in public, away from the safety of my home...the familiar things, the comfortable things. It's been so much easier to stay holed up in my house like a modern day hermit. I haven't needed anyone but ME, MYSELF, AND I. I've found security in my routines...my daily routines and when those routines are disrupted, I find myself feeling scattered and fearful. Why am I letting CANCER have this power over me???
5 YEARS. 5.YEARS. The standard life expectancy given to patients by oncologists when they're diagnosed with breast cancer. I'm 19 months into my 5 year period. I didn't even realize how that number has stuck in my mind...like a jail sentence. You have 5 years. 5. 5 years on death row...But it's time to start living again.
You know what they say...out of the mouth of babes. The daughter who spoke this truth into my life is my oldest daughter, Erin. She's a godly woman. I'm so proud of her. She's been such a wonderful source of support and encouragement to me since I was diagnosed. Daily, she calls to check up on me. She isn't afraid to speak truth to me even when I don't want to hear it and I'm thankful for that.
I've been thinking a lot about the words she shared with me...it's time to start living again. But where do I begin? How do I bring myself to the point of being able to step out and be brave? It's so hard to admit that I'm struggling. I don't want people to know that about me. It makes me vulnerable but see, that's another part of cancer. It demeans. It decimates. It destroys. It's the gift that keeps on giving.
I know I need to rise above. I know I need to walk in faith. I have a little sign in my office that reminds me I'm braver than I believe, stronger than I seem, and smarter than I think. It's a quote from Christopher Robin to Winnie the Pooh. It's so easy for people to give you those pat answers but this is something I've got to figure out myself. Don't judge me. You're probably thinking, just do it, but that's easier said than done. No one can truly understand the physical, emotional and spiritual effects cancer has on a person. Each one of us have to make our own way through it. Some people find that cancer support groups help, but I have to fight my own demons. I have to work my way through it and I know I will.
Yes, it's time to start living again and yes, I'm working on it. All I can do it take one day at a time and make little baby steps of progress. Realizing the words she spoke to me were true is the first of many steps to come. I don't want to stay in the land of the dead, the cursed, the sentenced to die. I want to rejoin the land of the living.
Another of my daughters watches a TV show called the "Walking Dead." It's a show about the Apocalypse and Zombies. I watched it with her once but wasn't impressed. You can only take so much of those gory looking creatures with skin hanging off their bones. How appropriate the title is for the show, the "Walking Dead." I don't want to be one of them and in order to keep from staying there, I have to figure out a way to climb out of this pit I'm in...It's time to start living again...
Next month I go see a new oncologist. I'm going to be open and honest with him. I'm going to admit I have a problem. I'm going to talk to him about my depression and agoraphobia. I'm going to ask him for help and hope he'll set me on the right track and help me find my way to the land of the living once again.
© bonnie annis all rights reserved
Daily, I do battle. When I get up in the morning, I thank God that I was able to open my eyes and I thank Him for one more day...just one more day. I don't take my days for granted any longer, but oh boy...I surely used to. I never gave a thought to waking up, I just always assumed I would...but that was before cancer.
One of my daughters spoke some truth into my life yesterday. She told me it was time to start living again. Those words pounded hard into my heart. Time. to. start. living. again. They made me realize...when did I give up? When did I stop living? The more I thought about it, the more I realized I accepted the death sentence that was handed to me over a year ago. That fateful day in June, when I heard those three dreaded words over the phone - YOU HAVE CANCER....YOU. It was not someone else, it was me. I was the one who had cancer. ME. And that day, a little piece of my heart died.
I continued to let her words sink into my spirit. It's time to start living again. But how do I let go of the fear that continues to haunt me, to comfort me? Gosh, I can't believe I even said that...comfort me??? In some wickedly strange way, knowing I have, NO HAD, cancer has given me a reason to not do many of the things I used to do in the past. Was I using it as an excuse to not do things I used to enjoy? This was going to take some time to pour over. Surely, I wasn't doing this...NOT ME, NOT POLLYANA BONNIE...THE ONE WHO ALWAYS LOOKS AT THINGS WITH ROSE COLORED GLASSES... oh, but I was...
My social life has been non-existent since cancer. I've become AGORAPHOBIC. I've had a horrible fear of being out in public, away from the safety of my home...the familiar things, the comfortable things. It's been so much easier to stay holed up in my house like a modern day hermit. I haven't needed anyone but ME, MYSELF, AND I. I've found security in my routines...my daily routines and when those routines are disrupted, I find myself feeling scattered and fearful. Why am I letting CANCER have this power over me???
5 YEARS. 5.YEARS. The standard life expectancy given to patients by oncologists when they're diagnosed with breast cancer. I'm 19 months into my 5 year period. I didn't even realize how that number has stuck in my mind...like a jail sentence. You have 5 years. 5. 5 years on death row...But it's time to start living again.
You know what they say...out of the mouth of babes. The daughter who spoke this truth into my life is my oldest daughter, Erin. She's a godly woman. I'm so proud of her. She's been such a wonderful source of support and encouragement to me since I was diagnosed. Daily, she calls to check up on me. She isn't afraid to speak truth to me even when I don't want to hear it and I'm thankful for that.
I've been thinking a lot about the words she shared with me...it's time to start living again. But where do I begin? How do I bring myself to the point of being able to step out and be brave? It's so hard to admit that I'm struggling. I don't want people to know that about me. It makes me vulnerable but see, that's another part of cancer. It demeans. It decimates. It destroys. It's the gift that keeps on giving.
I know I need to rise above. I know I need to walk in faith. I have a little sign in my office that reminds me I'm braver than I believe, stronger than I seem, and smarter than I think. It's a quote from Christopher Robin to Winnie the Pooh. It's so easy for people to give you those pat answers but this is something I've got to figure out myself. Don't judge me. You're probably thinking, just do it, but that's easier said than done. No one can truly understand the physical, emotional and spiritual effects cancer has on a person. Each one of us have to make our own way through it. Some people find that cancer support groups help, but I have to fight my own demons. I have to work my way through it and I know I will.
Yes, it's time to start living again and yes, I'm working on it. All I can do it take one day at a time and make little baby steps of progress. Realizing the words she spoke to me were true is the first of many steps to come. I don't want to stay in the land of the dead, the cursed, the sentenced to die. I want to rejoin the land of the living.Another of my daughters watches a TV show called the "Walking Dead." It's a show about the Apocalypse and Zombies. I watched it with her once but wasn't impressed. You can only take so much of those gory looking creatures with skin hanging off their bones. How appropriate the title is for the show, the "Walking Dead." I don't want to be one of them and in order to keep from staying there, I have to figure out a way to climb out of this pit I'm in...It's time to start living again...
Next month I go see a new oncologist. I'm going to be open and honest with him. I'm going to admit I have a problem. I'm going to talk to him about my depression and agoraphobia. I'm going to ask him for help and hope he'll set me on the right track and help me find my way to the land of the living once again.
© bonnie annis all rights reserved
Thursday, November 5, 2015
You never know
A text message came in from my daughter, one of many I receive every day, but this one was different. This one was filled with emotion, even though it was impossible for me to hear her voice through her message, as I read it, I could almost see her face...hear her trembling words, see those trickling tears. "One of our guys went on a test ride and got in an accident," she said, "He was killed." I sat there as I read her message. I read it over and over again wondering who this person was and what had led to such tragic events.
Later in the day, she called and gave me more information. I could her the disbelief as she said, "Mom, he was so young, in his twenties, with a 3 year old little girl and a wife." I tried not to interrupt. I knew she needed to let the words flow to allow healing to begin. When she finished, I commented that none of us ever know when our last day on Earth will be. I told her I was so very sorry.
I couldn't help but wonder about this young man and his family. Did his wife get to tell him goodbye that morning as he went off to work? Did she tell him she loved him? Did he promise to see her later that day for dinner? I wondered if, as he walked out the workplace door to perform the test ride on that company motorcycle, what his thoughts were...was his thinking about how much fun he was going to have as the wind whipped through his hair? Was he thinking about how much time was left in the day until he could get home to his family?
Just shortly after he'd left the store, this young man had met his fate. It seems a bus pulled out in front of him and he was unable to stop. The collision took his life. He'd never see his young wife again. He'd never get to see his little daughter grow up. A split second. That's all it took for lives to be changed forever.
Imagine the hushed whispers that traveled through the workplace after they learned the news...the tears, the gasps of horror. No one could have known their day would be turned upside down like that and yet, that's the reality of life. We live and move and have our being according to the number of minutes God grants us. None of us know when our time will be up...when He'll call us home.
I couldn't help but wonder about the man's salvation. I asked my daughter if the young man was saved and she said she didn't know. We talked about how important it is to share our faith with the people we come in contact with on a daily basis. I think she understood in a much deeper way after this fatal accident.
Oh how my heart grieves for this one who was killed and not only for him, but for those loved ones he left behind. How will they cope? My prayer is that they'll have friends and family to come along beside them and help them walk through this hard...that they'll find comfort in the prayers and love of others, but most of all...that they'll find Jesus. And that He'll supply His perfect peace to cover over the difficult questions that need answers.
May we never take a day for granted. May we remember to tell those we love how much we care. May we realize that life is short and you never know when God's going to call you home. It could be in the next few minutes...are you ready?
© bonnie annis all rights reserved
Just shortly after he'd left the store, this young man had met his fate. It seems a bus pulled out in front of him and he was unable to stop. The collision took his life. He'd never see his young wife again. He'd never get to see his little daughter grow up. A split second. That's all it took for lives to be changed forever.
Imagine the hushed whispers that traveled through the workplace after they learned the news...the tears, the gasps of horror. No one could have known their day would be turned upside down like that and yet, that's the reality of life. We live and move and have our being according to the number of minutes God grants us. None of us know when our time will be up...when He'll call us home.
I couldn't help but wonder about the man's salvation. I asked my daughter if the young man was saved and she said she didn't know. We talked about how important it is to share our faith with the people we come in contact with on a daily basis. I think she understood in a much deeper way after this fatal accident.
Oh how my heart grieves for this one who was killed and not only for him, but for those loved ones he left behind. How will they cope? My prayer is that they'll have friends and family to come along beside them and help them walk through this hard...that they'll find comfort in the prayers and love of others, but most of all...that they'll find Jesus. And that He'll supply His perfect peace to cover over the difficult questions that need answers.
May we never take a day for granted. May we remember to tell those we love how much we care. May we realize that life is short and you never know when God's going to call you home. It could be in the next few minutes...are you ready?
© bonnie annis all rights reserved
Tuesday, November 3, 2015
Out...of...breath...
Rebounding is supposed to be a great exercise for breast cancer survivors, especially since it helps stimulate the lymphatic system. That's one reason I bought my rebounder in the first place...I suffer from Lymphedema. Lymphedema occurs when the normal lymphatic flow is disrupted and lymphatic fluid accumulates in the body. It's uncomfortable and, at times, can be quite painful. So, to help my body reabsorb the lymphatic fluid that collects in my upper arms, I jump. My rebounder is not only fun, it's a medical necessity.
If you've never jumped on a rebounder, it's quite an experience, even my youngest granddaughter, Heather, loves it! Let me tell you about it. My rebounder is not the typical rebounder. Mine has bungee cords holding the rebounding trampoline on to the frame. Most rebounders have metal springs. I chose the kind with the bungee cords because it was quieter and provided a safer jump experience. Maintenance is low and the bungee cords don't have to be replaced but every 3 years.
In preparation for rebounding, comfortable clothes is a must. You're going to be jumping and bouncing and you don't want to be wearing anything restrictive. I usually wear a tshirt and sweats. You can jump barefoot, in sock feet, or in tennis shoes. I usually jump barefoot or in tennis shoes. I've found that socks are too slippery and slippery socks and an uncoordinated jumper don't make for a good mix! Shoes help people with weak ankles and provide more stability. When you've decided how you want to jump (barefoot, socks, or with shoes) it's time to climb up onto the trampoline. The rebounder is only about 14 inches off the ground but even that height can prove you unstable if you don't have good balance.
The best way to get going is just to start gently bouncing so you can get the feel of things. I always try to stay right in the center of the trampoline because I'm afraid if I get too close to the edge, I'll get my feet tangled in the bungees and fall....I'm a klutz, just so you know (and I'm not kidding here). After you've bounced gently and slowly, you can start to increase your height and speed. I've found the higher I go, the less stable I am. You can twist from side to side as you jump up and down, you can do jumping jacks, you can alternate feet...there's a lot you can do. Just the up and down motion stimulates the lymphatic system and disburses the lymphatic fluid. (There are many rebounding routines out there on the internet if you need one.)
Since I tend to get a little wobbly and off balance, I've found that it helps me to use a stablizing bar. You can purchase one specifically for your rebounder but I've found I can scoot the rebounder close to my treadmill and hold onto one of the treadmill bars while I jump. Holding on to the bar affords me some much needed stability and gives me more confidence as I jump higher and higher.
Today, as I was jumping, I started to form my own little jumping routine. First I marched in place to give my heart rate time to increase gradually. Next, I started to jump up and down gently and then began jumping from side to side. After doing that for a little bit, I started to twist side to side as I jumped. I was having fun! I decided to ramp it up a notch and started bouncing harder and faster. Within just a few minutes I had to stop! My heart was beating really fast and I could hardly breathe. I wondered why I was having trouble breathing...I hadn't ever had difficulty breathing when exercising before and then, I remembered.
When I had my PET scan, to look for the spread of cancer in my body, the radiologist noted I'd had damage to my right anterior lobe of my lung from the radiation treatments. I guess that's why I was getting out of breath easily, so I slowed it down a bit and felt better. As I continued jumping, I had to laugh. Here I was jumping on my rebounder while holding onto the treadmill handrails. I got a mental image of myself being really energetic and doing a big jump from the rebounder right onto the treadmill and immediately beginning a rapid jog. Before my mind could return me from the treadmill back to the rebounder, I took a deep breath and hopped off. I'd better not push it. One and a half lung isn't the greatest for rebounding but it surely would be stressed to the max if I included jogging on the treadmill too. I'd hate to have had to call 911 and tried to explain what I was doing and how I'd gotten so out of breath. I don't think they would have believed me.
Rebounding is a fun, low impact exercise and I highly recommend it. Just be careful and check with your doctor first.
© bonnie annis all rights reserved
Monday, November 2, 2015
I'm broken and you can't fix it
I have to admit something that I really don't want to admit, because when I do, you'll see my flaws...you'll see that I'm broken...messed up...and in need of repair. I've tried for some time to hide it but I can't do it any more. I give up. I admit defeat. I'm suffering. I'm depressed. There I said it. I feel a little better just knowing it's out there. And admitting it is a huge thing for me. I'm never depressed...well, I never used to be. Oh sure, sometimes I'd get a little down in the dumps but I'd always pick myself up, dust myself off and keep on going. I never let things really bother me. This time, I'm not sure if I can get myself out of this pit.
I guess it's healthy to be writing about it. At least I've admitted I have a problem. Isn't that what they want you to do when you go to counseling? Pinpoint the problem, accept it, discuss ways to conquer the problem and then work on solving it...right. So in essence, I'm giving myself a counseling session.
Counselor (me): So, Bonnie, what seems to be the problem?
counselee (me): I'm feeling depressed and alone.
Counselor: And why do you feel this way?
counselee: I don't really know.
Counselor: Let's think about it. What makes you feel depressed and alone?
counselee: Being alone all day...alone with my thoughts...having no friends and no one to talk to...I feel like I don't matter.
Counselor: So I hear you saying you feel like you don't matter because you have no friends or anyone to talk to is that right?
counselee: Yes, that's right. Things just haven't turned out like I expected.
Counselor: How so?
counselee: I never dreamed I'd get breast cancer...ever. It was a total shock and then, I spent the last year going through surgery and treatment. For over a year, all I've done is go from one doctor to another. I didn't have time to think about any of it. All I did was focus on getting through the next day, doing what I was told and trying to fight through the fatigue. Now that things have slowed down, I'm really having time to process all of it.
Counselor: And how does that make you feel?
counselee: It makes me feel scared and lonely, like I need help. I've tried so hard to keep anyone from knowing that I was struggling. I've tried hard to be brave and strong. I've tried not to let my emotions overtake me.
Counselor: Why did you feel like you had to be strong?
counselee: I felt like I had to be strong for my husband and my family. They expected me to be brave...to push through and to fight hard.
Counselor: And did you?
counselee: I did to a degree. I always kept my innermost thoughts and feelings to myself.
Counselor: Did you ever share those thoughts and feelings with anyone?
counselee: The only person I ever shared them with was God. I pour out my heart to Him daily and I find encouragement in the Bible but sometimes, I just want to talk with someone face to face...to really hear their feedback...to know that I'm not crazy.
Counselor: Why do you think you're crazy?
counselee: I feel like admitting I'm struggling is a sign of weakness. I shouldn't be feeling this way.
Counselor: So you're saying you feel admitting your hardships in dealing with the aftermath of breast cancer is a sign of weakness?
counselee: Yes, I do.
Counselor: Do you feel strength is admirable while weakness is something to be ashamed of?
counselee: Sometimes I do feel that way. I've always had to be strong. Admitting I can't handle something by myself is difficult. I've never asked for help before.
Counselor: How does asking for help make you feel?
counselee: At first, it makes me feel insufficient, weak, broken. But as I talk about it, I'm realizing it helps to process the problem. A joke just popped into my head. May I share it with you?
Counselor: Sure.
counselee: How do you eat an elephant?
Counselor: I don't know. How do you eat an elephant?
counselee: One bite at a time. Thinking of that joke helped me see that the only way to conquer my problem is to take tiny, little bites...
Counselor: So how does the first bite taste?
counselee: It tastes pretty sweet.
Counselor: I'm so glad. Our time is up for today. We'll continue again next week. In the meantime, I want you to promise not to focus on the whole elephant. Concentrate on the next bite only. Write down your feelings and don't sugar coat them. You and I are the only ones who'll see your notes. Be honest with yourself and in so doing, you'll begin to see with clarity.
Well, that was a productive first counseling session, don't you agree? I think I did a good job as both the counselor and the counselee. Sometimes, it's good to have a conversation with yourself...especially when you can be impartial and see both sides of things.
Through my "counseling session" I think I've discovered I'm suffering from a.c. depression (After Cancer Depression...I made up that term so I'm not sure if it's really a legitimate condition but if it isn't, it should be!) I haven't been part of any sort of group therapies or self help healing since being diagnosed. I've just been trying to figure things out on my own. Maybe that's why I'm struggling. Maybe I need to have a conversation with my oncologist about this depression, but if I do, I know he'll just say "Let me prescribe an anti-depressant." I don't want any more drugs, so I'll stick with the Great Physician, God.
I know my struggle doesn't have to be wrapped up into a neat, tidy bow with all the answers. I know, even while I'm broken and tattered, that God is still working on me. He's refining me and teaching me. This depression is probably part of a condition called Seasonal Affective Disorder which affects many people during the darker, colder months. I've never been diagnosed with it, but I'm sure it's normal for most people to be a little depressed when the weather is gloomy. Some days are worse than others. These gray, rainy days make my mood more introspective. I'm going to have to work hard to get out of these doldrums. Maybe if I reach down and take hold of my bootstrap, I can pick myself up and dust myself off....afterall, tomorrow is another day.
© bonnie annis all rights reserved
I guess it's healthy to be writing about it. At least I've admitted I have a problem. Isn't that what they want you to do when you go to counseling? Pinpoint the problem, accept it, discuss ways to conquer the problem and then work on solving it...right. So in essence, I'm giving myself a counseling session.
Counselor (me): So, Bonnie, what seems to be the problem?
counselee (me): I'm feeling depressed and alone.
Counselor: And why do you feel this way?
counselee: I don't really know.
Counselor: Let's think about it. What makes you feel depressed and alone?
counselee: Being alone all day...alone with my thoughts...having no friends and no one to talk to...I feel like I don't matter.
Counselor: So I hear you saying you feel like you don't matter because you have no friends or anyone to talk to is that right?
counselee: Yes, that's right. Things just haven't turned out like I expected.
Counselor: How so?
counselee: I never dreamed I'd get breast cancer...ever. It was a total shock and then, I spent the last year going through surgery and treatment. For over a year, all I've done is go from one doctor to another. I didn't have time to think about any of it. All I did was focus on getting through the next day, doing what I was told and trying to fight through the fatigue. Now that things have slowed down, I'm really having time to process all of it.
Counselor: And how does that make you feel?
counselee: It makes me feel scared and lonely, like I need help. I've tried so hard to keep anyone from knowing that I was struggling. I've tried hard to be brave and strong. I've tried not to let my emotions overtake me.
Counselor: Why did you feel like you had to be strong?
counselee: I felt like I had to be strong for my husband and my family. They expected me to be brave...to push through and to fight hard.
Counselor: And did you?
counselee: I did to a degree. I always kept my innermost thoughts and feelings to myself.
Counselor: Did you ever share those thoughts and feelings with anyone?
counselee: The only person I ever shared them with was God. I pour out my heart to Him daily and I find encouragement in the Bible but sometimes, I just want to talk with someone face to face...to really hear their feedback...to know that I'm not crazy.
Counselor: Why do you think you're crazy?
counselee: I feel like admitting I'm struggling is a sign of weakness. I shouldn't be feeling this way.
Counselor: So you're saying you feel admitting your hardships in dealing with the aftermath of breast cancer is a sign of weakness?
counselee: Yes, I do.
Counselor: Do you feel strength is admirable while weakness is something to be ashamed of?
counselee: Sometimes I do feel that way. I've always had to be strong. Admitting I can't handle something by myself is difficult. I've never asked for help before.
Counselor: How does asking for help make you feel?
counselee: At first, it makes me feel insufficient, weak, broken. But as I talk about it, I'm realizing it helps to process the problem. A joke just popped into my head. May I share it with you?
Counselor: Sure.
Counselor: I don't know. How do you eat an elephant?
counselee: One bite at a time. Thinking of that joke helped me see that the only way to conquer my problem is to take tiny, little bites...
Counselor: So how does the first bite taste?
counselee: It tastes pretty sweet.
Counselor: I'm so glad. Our time is up for today. We'll continue again next week. In the meantime, I want you to promise not to focus on the whole elephant. Concentrate on the next bite only. Write down your feelings and don't sugar coat them. You and I are the only ones who'll see your notes. Be honest with yourself and in so doing, you'll begin to see with clarity.
Well, that was a productive first counseling session, don't you agree? I think I did a good job as both the counselor and the counselee. Sometimes, it's good to have a conversation with yourself...especially when you can be impartial and see both sides of things.
Through my "counseling session" I think I've discovered I'm suffering from a.c. depression (After Cancer Depression...I made up that term so I'm not sure if it's really a legitimate condition but if it isn't, it should be!) I haven't been part of any sort of group therapies or self help healing since being diagnosed. I've just been trying to figure things out on my own. Maybe that's why I'm struggling. Maybe I need to have a conversation with my oncologist about this depression, but if I do, I know he'll just say "Let me prescribe an anti-depressant." I don't want any more drugs, so I'll stick with the Great Physician, God.
I know my struggle doesn't have to be wrapped up into a neat, tidy bow with all the answers. I know, even while I'm broken and tattered, that God is still working on me. He's refining me and teaching me. This depression is probably part of a condition called Seasonal Affective Disorder which affects many people during the darker, colder months. I've never been diagnosed with it, but I'm sure it's normal for most people to be a little depressed when the weather is gloomy. Some days are worse than others. These gray, rainy days make my mood more introspective. I'm going to have to work hard to get out of these doldrums. Maybe if I reach down and take hold of my bootstrap, I can pick myself up and dust myself off....afterall, tomorrow is another day.
© bonnie annis all rights reserved
Sunday, November 1, 2015
Landslide
The clock on the kitchen wall chimes. I glance toward it and realize I've forgotten to turn the time back. Spring forward...fall back. Daylight savings time. I've never understood why it was necessary to turn back the hands of time. It gets darker earlier now, true, but why set the clocks back? Why not just leave time alone and let it be? Why do we have to interfere?
Time has become an important realization in my life lately. It seems, with every leaf that falls, with every minute that ticks by, I'm realizing things never stay the same. Stevie Nicks' song, Landslide, pummels my mind. These verses crowd my thoughts:
"Can I handle the seasons of my life?
Well, I've been afraid of changing
'Cause I've built my life around you
But time makes you bolder, even children get older and I'm getting older too"
I ponder the questions in the song lyrics. Can I handle the seasons of my life? I don't know. When I was younger, I'd have immediately said yes. Now that I'm older, the seasons are becoming more difficult to handle, more challenging than I'd ever dreamed.
I have been afraid of changing. Every time I look into the mirror, I see myself growing older. No matter how many times I color my hair to hide the whiteness, no matter how much makeup I put on...I can't hide the fact that I'll soon have 58 years. I feel my body deteriorating daily. My strength isn't what it used to be. I'm not as limber as I once was. Just like the trees outside. I feel like I'm entering the Autumn of my life. I feel like I'm on the edge of a great precipice looking down and soon, the landslide will come and carry me away. Life is so fragile.
Speaking of fragile life, yesterday, I went to visit my mother. She's in a nursing home. My husband was sweet enough to take me to see her. It's a long drive and took nearly 2 hours to get there. When we entered the room, she was lying in bed watching one of her favorite shows on television. Her frail, little roommate was sitting in her wheelchair on her side of the room. We spoke to Mrs. "S" as we entered, remembering she is hard of hearing we spoke a little louder than we normally would have spoken. She replied a feeble hello. Mama looked up as we approached and smiled. She was glad to see us. I noticed, since our last visit, she's aged. Her eyes looked weaker. Her hands shakier. Her body is wearing out. As we visited, I tried to pay attention to little details, to listen more intently. We had a good visit and after a few hours, I could tell Mama was becoming tired so we said our goodbyes and left. Time. Where had it gone?
Sometimes I wish I was still a child. It was easier back then. There was security in knowing my parents would be there to love and protect me. I felt safe knowing whenever I had a problem I could run to my mother, but now, I don't burden her with my problems. She's got enough of her own. It's sad to realize nothing ever stays the same. Things are always changing.
On the drive home, I looked over at my husband. I've built my life around you. I see he's getting older too. His hair is a beautiful silvery gray. His beard is stark white. He is my life love, so tender and so kind. He is my rock...sturdy and strong. He is dependable, faithful, and true. I have built my life around him. But time is working against us. How much longer will we have together? Sometimes I am afraid. I'm afraid of being alone.
The leaves on the trees are clinging with all their might through this gentle Fall rain, but some of them just can't hold on any longer. I watch them drift slowly down to the ground. They float so tenderly. Within days, the leaves that have fallen will turn brown...dead...lifeless. Their beautiful color will fade and be no more.
But as I look at the leaves I am reminded of something. Life and death go hand in hand. The dead leaves covering the ground will provide a covering for little seedlings that will emerge in the Spring. Their decay will provide good, fertilized soil and nutrients for new life in a few months.
The hour chimes on my clock and once again, I think of my life. Time makes you bolder. I don't see myself as bold, but as I've gotten older, I've taken more chances. Since being diagnosed with breast cancer, my priorities have changed. I've realized how very short life truly is and I try to live in the moment now.
Even children get older...I'm not the only one getting older. I see my children getting older, too. While I still sometimes see them as they were when they were younger, I realize they are adults now. They are capable of making their own decisions. They don't need me as much as they once did. I watch them as they live their lives. I'm proud of the people they've become. I've raised them well. Now they have children of their own and they are growing too. My grandchildren. Eight of them. The oldest is in college and the youngest will turn one this week. Time is flying by as they change and grow.
Time, precious time. It quietly slips away. Not a single moment can ever be saved. Once it's gone, it's gone. Spring forward. Fall back. The clock keeps ticking. No matter how we try to adjust the time, we're only given a certain number of moments here on this earth and when our time's up, it's up.
There's a landslide heading my way and as much as I'd like to dodge it and let it sweep right past me, I don't think that's going to happen. I'm bracing for it already. I don't know when the first rock will tumble down but I'm watching.
Another leaf just let go. It's time was up. It had a good life clinging to the safety and security of the tree. At one time, it drew sustenance and provided shade. I've come to realize that my life is like a leaf, floating on the breeze. One day here and the next day gone. And that's the way it should be, but time is so very short....cancer helps you realize that fact and helps you see things so much more clearly. And time, while fleeting, is so very precious.
While Stevie Nicks' song was about her discontentment with life circumstances and the possible break up of her band, Landslide, means so much more to me. Change is inevitable. Change is constant, says Benjamin Disraeli and I agree.
© bonnie annis all rights reserved
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