I carry you with me into the world,
into the smell of rain
and; the words that dance between people
and; for me, it will always be this way,
walking in the light,
remembering being alive together. ~ Brain Andreas
Its been 4 years Dad, since you left your earthly home for your heavenly one, on the 5th of July, in 2010.
She sits on the end of the dock. Waiting. She listens for the sound of running feet. There was a time when she would have been 4 or 5, and the rest of the kids, her cousins, were teenagers. They would have been shouting, splashing, chasing each other, on another lake. Two would have ganged up on one, and someone would have ended up in the lake with clothes on. An auntie would have been yelling for them to be sure it wasn't the little girl! But she knew how to swim already and couldn't wait for it to be her turn to be thrown in.
She sits waiting. With memories of her Dad, limping down these steps, tied to an oxygen tank and cannula's forcing air into his failing body. But his spirit - summer strong- willing himself to get in the boat and fish. No complaining- never too hot, too cold, too windy. Maybe he'd catch a few, maybe he wouldn't. But he'd go willingly, any chance he'd get.
She stands waiting. For nieces, who came with her brother and his wife, every 4th of July, for years. It brought her family together and bolstered her spirit. Her kids, and their kids, cousins. They too, would want to chase, racing into the water, making summer memories. She wades in to the water, praying they decide to come back, praying she'll be able to hold on until they do.
She sits waiting. Remembering Rick's mom, Carole, who left this earthly home so suddenly, almost two years ago now. Jim even finds red, white, and blue stars and flags to sprinkle across the tablecloth on the delicious meal he prepares, the kids smiling, remembering its how Grandma would have decorated too.
She sits waiting… for all the pieces of her to come back...
Until she can't wait anymore. She's emptied- the sad, the broken, the heavy. She needs not sit any longer. So she makes her way up the stairs, "walking in the light, remembering being alive together. "
And begins to fill, with light, joy, and peace.
His mercies- ever present- ever tender.
Rick's amazing hummingbird photos.
Dr. Antoniuk removed the tape from my incision. Its free of everything but layers of stitches that will slowly dissolve. I still have to be careful not to dislodge or loosen anything in that chest wall.
But it looks so good… so good.
Family reunion and a visit from Rick's brother coming next.
Scans next week, Dr. P, infusion, Dr. Foster and a doctor appointment for my mom… and a side of cake… cause its also my birthday in the midst of all those appointments!