Looking to the Blessed Mother for Hope

This from the annual May crowning at my FIL's home last year

My faith is a big part of who I am. I am grateful for the hope it gives me. My faith has grown so much in the last few months and I will touch more about that in another post. I just need to sort the words in my head. In the meantime I've been doing a little more praying and a lot more of giving thanks. It seems weird to say that I'm thankful in the time of having cancer during a pandemic, but I am.

May is a time that my family gathers together to takes time to remember those who have passed before us. We do it during the annual May crowning. Before becoming Catholic, I did not always understand the fascination with Mary.  Jesus has always been the focus of my faith and how I follow His word.  But over the last 14 years, I have learned to look to her for her example of faith. She was the first one to say "yes" to Him. That is a pretty darn big "yes" when she carried the Son of God. Not only does she teach us obedience, she also teaches us faith and sacrifice.

I am learning to love my children as Mary loved Jesus. It's not as easy as she makes it look.  Sometimes my children try my patience to the point that I need to give myself a time out so that I don't say anything that I'll regret.  Sometimes they make me say a whole lotta bad words in my head as they try to push their boundaries and establish their independence. It's all developmentally normal, but it does make me weep every so often. And some days, more often than I'd like to admit.

During this time of cancer in quarantine, I've been waking up every morning and pray a Hail Mary before starting the day. There is something about starting my day with a prayer that I feel less alone.  It doesn't mean that the day will necessary be sunshine and roses, but it does start my day with a better attitude.  In this time of uncertainty, I look to the Blessed Mother for hope and guidance.  She's seen her more than her fair share of hardship and grief.

I share my thoughts in an essay I wrote for Medium: Missing the Crowning of Mary and Looking for Hope.

Where do you look for hope? Are you able to find it through out your day? I firmly believe that we are not alone, but sometimes you have to be willing to look.

I pray that you are safe and healthy. Thank you for taking the time to read my blog posts and my "diary" entries on Medium.  Peace be with you.

The Loss of a Swim Season

My kiddo swimming last summer

We got the word last night that our summer swim season has officially been canceled. My husband says that I am oddly conflicted by it. He's right. I am. I am undoubtedly relieved that we can continue to limit the germs that come home, but I'm grieving, too. I've been holding on to hope that things are getting better.  But the loss of the season is a reminder that we're not quite there, yet. I'm still processing my feelings. Underneath it all I know that losing the summer swim season has less to do with missing out on a summer staple, and has more to do with my current situation.  It's not the swim season. It's missing my community, missing my extended family, missing my friends, and the loss of certainty.  I try to process my grief in my latest article: The Loss of a Swim Season and Stages of Grief

What Will my Children Remember?

I'm still grappling with my diagnosis of HER2+ breast cancer. I haven't made it public on social media and I'm just starting to share it here.  I have so many emotions that envelope me. There are good days and there are bad days. There are days I feel like a warrior and there are days that I just want to snuggle in and hunker down and ride out the wave of grief and terror in the safety of my family room couch.  A lot of my emotions are tied to how my diagnosis and illness affect my children.  It's always been about my children.  I find that writing about my journey, my fears, my thoughts helps me to process all of it.  And sometimes it just too big for me.  I have big feelings and always have. My concern is how to allow my feelings to come out and how it affects my children. I don't want to scare them, but if I don't show some of the hardships, then it is a lie.

Most of the time when people ask "How are you?" I tell them the standard answer: fatigued.  Fatigue is a safe answer.  People are okay with that answer. They can understand fatigue.  But not all of them understand the terror or the rage. I reserve those answers for my husband during the long evening walks around the neighborhood. I don't have to hide my feelings from him. He lets me cry and yell and throw things.  I also share my real struggles with a friend who has undergone the pain of breast cancer.  She doesn't chastise me for being angry.  She doesn't tell me that I can't be angry.  She tells me straight on: "Dude, it's sucks." And while she won't let me pity myself, she also doesn't tell me it's going to be easy or that it's all going to be okay, but because we quite frankly don't know.  She sends the virtual hug and raises a glass to me and stands with me in solidarity.

And through it all, I am still in shock that I have breast cancer. I also know that I can frame this experience for my children.  The world is in a standstill right now. We're all sheltering at home. In some ways this makes it easier, because then we don't have to worry as much about the germs that we can bring in from the outside and we have a better control of what we touch or who we interact with. For my husband, it's the grocery store.  For me it's the lab for the weekly blood draws and the oncology nurses and the reclining chair for my weekly infusions.  It's much harder to rein in four children who would interact with easily a hundred people in a given day if they were attending school.  So I'm grateful that they are home. They understand the seriousness of my illness and to their credit, not one of them has complained about having to stay home.

We've spent our time watching movies, working on puzzles, coloring, listening to books, reading books, and cooking s'mores over the fire pit.  My children have seen the fatigue, the naps, and the tears. I hope that's not the only thing they see and I write about it here: What will my Children Remember?

It's a journey. I'm still processing. And through it all I'm just as discombobulated as ever.

New Perspectives

I have been working on my writing journey.  Last year my story "Running Full Circle" was published in Chicken Soup for the Soul.  (Happy Dance!) It was such a thrill to have a story published.  Since then, I have been dedicating time to my craft when the littlest one was in preschool. It was all a precursor to next year where I would have more time to write. I was using the 3-4 hours a week I had available to write.  I've continued to submit my work, and have another story that has been accepted and due to the current situation with COVID-19, the publishers are waiting to have it go out to the masses. When it does, I'll make sure to post it here and let you know.

As you know, the world has changed tremendously. The kids are home full time and are getting their education via distance learning.  Our house has more laptops than seems normal.  Time that was dedicated to writing is now used for supporting the kids while they learn from home, figuring out our new normal, and I really need to drop the "new" because now after 8 weeks it's just "normal."  I'm not writing as often as I would like and when even when I can it is punctuated with doctor's appointments and fatigue.

While I wait for my next story to be submitted (details to come!) I decided to write for Medium.  If you are not sure what that means, Medium is an online platform for reading stories from all around the world.  It also makes a way for writers to share their work. I took the plunge and published an article I've been working on.

Here it is if you'd like to read it: Cancer in Quarantine: Perspectives

 I have so much more to say on the topic, but my thoughts are still simmering.