Twenty Years of Heaven Here on Earth

I remember the day she was born like it happened last week.  I returned home for the weekend to meet my brand new, and very first, niece.  Her mom and dad were beaming rays of sunshine, and as her mom placed her in my arms we both had tears of such great joy.  I held her, leaned down to smell her hair and I think I might have moaned.  The feeling of joy and tenderness was overwhelming.  This precious little girl was the great symbolization of heaven.  In our life, we were given this beautiful gift.

It has been twenty years.  Happy, happy Birthday Goddaughter.

I have watched Andrea grow from being a strong, kind baby girl who enjoyed her nail polish and make-up at the tender age of, oh, two years old into this vibrant, kind and strong young woman who still enjoys her nail polish and make-up.

She has suffered through the losses with the rest of us.  She has laughed and been overjoyed with the strong presence of love and hope and faith in her life.  She has bounced in happiness, and brought happiness to others in so many ways - - - but mostly just by being in the same room. 

Sunshine follows her.

And to say that she is physically beautiful with a face that stops traffic, that stops the clouds from forming, that makes the angels in heaven celebrate would be an understatement.  Her gorgeousness combined with her great spirit combined with her inability to see just how beautiful she is, makes her precious.

My cup runneth over with such a deep love for this girl, and I wish and pray and plead that every day for her is an opportunity for her to feel and give the love that she is.

Happy birthday Andrea. "May the rising sun caress and bless your soul for all your life..." (thanks Bruce).

Counting on a Miracle, Indeed

It has been 18 days since I last posted on this blog.  Though I would like to say it was because I was so extremely busy (which I was) that I didn't write, it was mostly because there was a tiny, small portion of myself that contained the murky waters of fear and doubt.  Knowing myself as I do, I avoided even the slightest possibility that I might stir the murky and feel the fear.

Because, in all the other pools of myself, the water has been crystal clear.  I was recently promoted at my company, and it has been a long-time coming because I have wanted to change the path of my career and this promotion does just that - - - and the change is tiny.  I am still able to hang with my colleagues (friends) at the office, I just get to do it from a different office, and with a different type of work.  It's exciting, and my new role as director of contracts shall begin on Monday.  Good stuff.

I've also gone on a few dates, and shared a million laughs with someone who stirs the recesses of my heart that haven't been stirred in awhile.  I don't know how it happened, I don't know why it happened, I wasn't seeking it (overtly) and I wasn't expecting that this person would be able to cast away the fears as easily as he has done.  Yet, for the past month or so, I have felt the butterflies in my belly, and I have spent minutes/hours/full days contemplating what it all means.  Carrie might actually be in love.  Huh. (It's either a great love or a great fall in my future, and I've come to realize that pain has more substance than fear so I've decided to jump off the ledge and go for it).

I was also able to see Springsteen in concert twice.  The first time was with my cousin Jessica, who had never seen him.  Needless to say, she will be seeing him again and again.  She's hooked.  And any time I see him, I am on a high that takes me skippily through many days.  So after the first show, I skipped and made it into the second show after a trip up north, and into the arms of a beautiful and tragic family - - - and across some seats to put a finger on the leather vest of my best friend, Bruce.  (I still kiss the tip of that finger!)

All clear waters.  Except for that one murky pool.

Shortly after getting the promotion, shortly after meeting someone, shortly after getting a fat refund check, shortly before seeing my best friend (and touching him!), I received a phone call from my doctor.  In no uncertain terms he said that my annual exam had shown cancer cells that may have not been removed from the hysterectomy from last year.  They wanted me to come in for another biopsy of the cells, and to discuss options - - - surgery, laser, radiation, etc. 

This little pool of darkness strapped my ability to write any words on this blog because when I write, I go deep.

The day I got the call, I called my friends and family; put myself on a prayer list and directed those who were praying for me to pray that the doctor's were mistaken and/or that the cancer cells go away. . .  I didn't want prayers that I would get the best doctors, the best treatment, the best of anything - - - only that the cancer was gone.  In essence, I was praying for a miracle.  And I prayed with the faith that I would be heard.

Then, I put thoughts of it away until the day of my appointment, which was yesterday.  I awoke grinding my teeth, heart palpitating in fear and sadness, moroseness and doom.  I cried for my babies, I cried for myself and I was figuratively hit by a monster of emotions. I then packed my bags and headed into the storm. . .

At the doctors, I was greeted with the worst case scenario, and an explanation on how we would proceed once they determined how and where the cancer had spread.  The nurse put her hand on my shoulder as tears fell from my face.  The doctor's sympathetic eyes were too much to face, and because of the situation, they brought a seasoned oncologist into the room to help me with the brunt of the blow. 

Then the examination began. As you can imagine, there is physical discomfort, and the blush factor of being examined so intimately.  But examine, they did.  And I listened, tears streaming, nurse's hand on my shoulder, and waited for the "Ok, there it is; or, do you see it?"  I braced myself for the knockout.

Instead I heard, "Looks good.  This is good.  I don't see anything.  Check again.  Check again. Good.  Check again."  I opened my eyes as the doctor stood to look me in the eyes.  His smile was bright, merry and twinkling.

"There's nothing there."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing."  His smile was even brighter.

The nurse's eyes filled with happy tears.

I got dressed.  Opened the door to walk outside.  Freedom!  And the doctor pulled me into an embrace.  "I am happy for you.  This is a good day for you.  This is a good day for us!"

No traces of cancer.  None.  Not a speck.  The doctors relied on their education and excellence to believe that it was true.  I relied on their smiles, and the reflection of relief I saw in their eyes.

Simply put, I prayed for a miracle.  I got my miracle.  Argue all you want that there was a mix-up somewhere along the way, and that perhaps the cancer cells never even existed.  But I know better.

I counted on that miracle.  I got my miracle.

As you can imagine, the rest of the day was spent feeling the complete opposite of the spectrum of emotions; and for the first time in my life, I think I felt every single emotion that there is in one day.

It's lovely.  It has substance.  It is a rich soil in which to grow good things.  It was a miracle day, and I have never been more grateful in my life, for my life.

Home

It has been a see-saw week.  When I say see-saw, I mean one that reaches the highest clouds in the sky where you sit feeling the warmth of a beautiful day on your smiling mouth; and then in a second, your back hurts from the hard landing on the rocky grounds of earth.

Earth and sky.  Sky and earth.

I have a friend who is losing his mother to cancer.  I have another friend who is watching her mother fade away with an obscure disease that nobody has ever heard of.  And another, and another and another. . .

I have cried so much for other people this week that I am wondering if I should get a paycheck for it.  I have had my own share of bad news, and my own unsurmountable, unknown level of joy as well. 

But then, I hear a story of redemption.  That story where the girl is broken, and lost, and confused and scared, and one day, after years of soul searching, she comes out of it; and she finds that she has been loved all along; she finds that her dreams are tangible; she finds that the pain she has endured for years, brought her to this great moment of truth.

She has found that love really does conquer all.  And so she reaches out, tentatively at first, for that first hand to hold that has been open and wanting the entire time she has been lost in her world of grief and confusion, fear and desire.

Her rocky ground, her higher ground, her rocky ground, her higher ground. . .

After some time, she learns that if she stretches her legs, and places her feet in the most perfect position, she can land on the rocky ground while still maintaining her view of the heavenly sky.  And in that moment, she realizes that she shall never land as hard as she did the first time.

And she has found her truth. 

And from that moment on, it's not a fight anymore, it's not a challenge, it's an acceptance of life's beauty, life's despair, life's grandly unbelievable and joyous truth!

God graces us with experiences - - - compassion, indignation, desire, magic - - - and He waits. And waits. And waits.

Then one day, we get it.  And His arms embrace us.  And we are there.

Home.

[Kim Kurek, sweetheart of all sweethearts, you inspired this.  And I am so very happy for you.]