Sunday, November 19, 2017

My Hero



"You must bear losses like a soldier, a voice told me, bravely and without complaint, and just when the day seems lost, grab your shield for another stand, another thrust forward.  That is the juncture that separates heroes from the merely strong."
~ Margaret George, The Memoirs of Cleopatra

I admit it, I'm addicted to quotes.  I can spend hours trolling quote sites whenever I get interested in a topic, but especially when preparing to blog.  And I did so when I decided to post this week on the topic of loss.  Because loss is ever present in our lives these days.  Not just the constant presence of the Ghost of Christmas Future, but the onslaught of loss that John has been experiencing of late.  

I set out to find a quote that might capture the feelings I have experienced as I watch him. My concern as I see him walk more slowly, tire more easily, require still another transfusion.  The sorrow I felt when he recently divested himself of his business, his "baby" that he nurtured for almost 30 years.  The heartbreak of watching him sell his car, accepting that the progression of his macular degeneration necessitates my chauffering.  The loss of stamina and energy, the loss of a piece of his identity, the loss of freedom and independence.  Loss upon loss.  I hate this for him.

And then I came upon the above quote and literally, in the moment, realized that this is how John thinks about loss and that the feelings I need to hold onto are my profound respect and gratitude for how he is managing his.  For he doesn't complain, doesn't even see complaining as a choice.  He takes life a day at a time, reorganizes quickly, and moves forward as best he can with amazing agility and dignity.  

I have often described my husband as resilient or persistent.  Strong.  But now, heroic.  My hero - and he will never lose that.


 





Sunday, November 5, 2017

Cherish Is the Word


The word cherish is in my reading vocabulary, but not much in my speaking or writing.  Oh, I had promised it would be 15 years ago when I fought breast cancer and realized how many people cared about me.  When I noticed how much I hadn't noticed.  When I vowed I would be more present, more attentive, more grateful.  When I realized how much I had to not only be grateful for, but to cherish and cherish deeply.  For, to be grateful for a red rose or a pretty sunset, to be glad a friend called can become an intellectual exercise, a momentary acknowledgment, a good habit, but a habit nonetheless.  

My intention was confirmed and reaffirmed when, two years later, John was diagnosed with non-Hodgkins, and he received his stem cell transplant.  And survived.

I'd like to say I've lived the dozen or so years since then having kept my promise to myself, but I haven't.  I became distracted, caught up with retirement, and moving, and planning and preparing, more everyday tasks and chores.  I didn't even catch myself up short when John was diagnosed again a year ago.  After all, more tasks to get our "house in order."  More planning and preparation.

Then, last weekend a series of sweet, small events gave me pause.  Telephone calls from old and new friends to see how we are holding up.  To remind me they are here for us.  A visit with dear friends who were about to move.  And another from friends we left behind when we moved.  Hugs and words of endearment and encouragement.  And tears that flowed for days - with sadness and gratitude.  So much, so many to cherish.  How could I have forgotten?

Why does it take a crisis for some of us to remember?  To cherish what we have now.  To cherish deeply what we have now.