Why Throw Out the Baby's Breath . . .

Why throw out the baby’s breath just because the roses have died? As I gathered up the roses to remove them from the vase and toss them in the garbage I noticed the baby’s breath. It was still white. It was still vibrant. It is beautiful. So:

Gypsophila paniculata is native to Central and Eastern Europe, but grows all over the world. It is considered invasive in North America. We use it as an accent; a garnish. It is never alone as it compliments bouquets at weddings, and almost any flower arrangement you might pick up at the grocery store or in a florist shop.

And we throw it away when the main attraction fades.

I “saved” this bunch of baby’s breath after the roses I bought over a week ago dried up. It made me think of the milestones and changes that come with life. We reach a goal and then move on. There is a tragedy and we change directions. Many times we think we need to leave the past behind; forget the person because of the hurt or the offense.

Maybe. Consider the fond memories that bring a smile to your face. My father passed away 19 years ago. I miss him at family gatherings and major life events. My relationship with him was different from the one he had with my brother or sister, and I know he loved me deeply. If I throw out the small things that made our relationship special and unique just because of the hurt I feel from his death I lose a huge piece of who I am today.

It is the same with friendships that fade or even the ones that end. If I throw out the memories that make me smile just because the relationship is over, I miss the beauty of what was once very special.

 

If you enjoy my blog and would like to follow me on Facebook, I can be found at The Reluctant Survivor. And on Twitter @relucsurvivor.

Chapter II

I haven’t written much this year. There are several reasons; in many ways just excuses. My position at work became full time in January. This is a good thing, but getting adjusted to the schedule and finding balance are taking time. My friend Linda was dying, and I was grieving. While I have shared some of my journey, there are other posts that will go unwritten.

At one point these past months I thought of closing down this blog. I wondered if it had fulfilled its purpose and it is now time to move on. That happens with blogs and writers. Things change. It’s not a bad thing or even sad. It just is.

However, I have had a sense that there is much that is still unwritten; still unsaid.

Two weeks ago I attended the Chair Academy. The focus of the Academy is to develop leadership skills for college and university leaders. It was a week of professional development and personal reflection. One of the daily tasks during this week-long session was to write down goals that I want to achieve over the next year.

Over the next year I will work with a mentor. I will develop a curriculum and map out a plan to help me meet my professional leadership goals. While trying to articulate and compile my goals, it struck me that what I work on for professional development will also spill over into my personal development. So I will keep this blog going, and you may see some new material as I share insights into what I am learning.

Stay tuned.

If you enjoy my blog and would like to follow me on Facebook, I can be found at The Reluctant Survivor. And on Twitter @relucsurvivor.

A Jumble of Emotions

I recently walked in my fifth Avon Walk. It was my fifth city, and my home city of Boston. There were many issues leading up to the weekend that could have derailed my participation, but the Walk is a commitment and a goal for me. I refused to get discouraged or give in. This was a significant year for so many reasons.

Back in December, as I was thinking about the Walk and talking with potential team mates I realized that the weekend was personally significant. It was May 16, 2008 that I had my last cancer treatment. Seven years later I was walking in the Boston Avon39 - the Walk to End Breast Cancer on May 16.

On March 17 I lost my friend Linda to breast cancer. I knew back in January that she would not be with us when I walked. While it was sad, I thought it was part of the “acceptance” stage. April 17 was significant to me; she had been gone a month and my heart still hurt while life around me seemed to go back to normal. It then struck me that Day 2 of the Walk was May 17 – two months after the death of my friend.

This year Avon gave out “connection bands.” Each band states the reason for walking. I could have taken a band that read “For Myself,” but it was the “For Someone I Miss” band that touched my heart. So I wore it for Linda, and thought of all the others that I have lost over the years.

I had known that this year would be difficult because my focus was on Linda and my loss. My reason for walking had changed. Opening and Closing Ceremonies are always emotional. This year, more than ever. I am thankful for the friends who have survived. And I thought of them as statistics are cited. We are the lucky ones. I cried when “loved ones we have lost” were mentioned.

This year I walked with the Solo Strutters; a national team that participates in each walk. It was formed so that no one would walk alone. Along the way I walked with others. Each person had their reason for walking. Each faced their own challenges over the weekend. I walked with Hillary for a while and we talked about walking alone and realizing that we are never truly alone. Both literally and figuratively.

This weekend was a jumble of emotions. Joy at being a survivor. Grief over the loss of a friend. Awe over the care that others bring and the connections that are made. And thankfulness for God’s grace through it all.

If you enjoy my blog and would like to follow me on Facebook, I can be found at The Reluctant Survivor. And on Twitter @relucsurvivor.

Mundane Faithfulness

Back in October I came across Kara Tippetts and her book The Hardest Peace: Expecting Grace in the Midst of Life’s Hard. I don’t remember how I found her, but I’m sure it was a connection to a connection among the on-line breast cancer family. You see, Kara was dying of breast cancer. She died a few days after Linda.

Kara has a website that is now being maintained by her friend Blythe Hunt. What I found in Kara was a grace that I know is difficult. Her posts spoke to me in a way that I haven’t been able to articulate. While she was dying I found that her messages were for me; the living who knows someone who is dying. In between the lines I knew Kara was struggling, and hurting both physically and emotionally. Yet her on-line presence spoke of seeking God’s face and finding grace every day.

As the New Year rolled around my husband subscribed me to a daily devotional that is delivered to my email inbox. Each morning I read the scripture presented and read the commentary of that day’s author. As the months have progressed I find myself pausing during my day and thinking about how God would want me to respond in the moment. I often fail. In fact, one day last week I completely lost it over an oversight and immediately regretted my reaction knowing that God’s grace was certainly not in that moment. (Fortunately, I stepped back and took a deep breath before proceeding).

During the Easter season I was reminded of Christ’s struggle of faith. It is recorded that he prayed “Father, if you are willing, remove this cup from me. Nevertheless, not my will, but yours, be done.” [Luke 22:42 ESV] just before being arrested. I, too, struggle with who I’ve been asked to be; what I’ve been asked to do. Those who have followed this blog from the beginning know the “why” behind The Reluctant Survivor. You also know that I’ve said “yes” to the Avon Walk; a physical challenge that this non-athlete is amazed to undertake each year. So I seek grace to be able to step up to the challenge.

Linda was a “yes,” and her journey was very different from Kara’s. Yet very much the same.

I don’t know what my next “yes” is, but for now I still have the Avon39 Walk. And as I seek grace I will strive to be faithful in the mundane.

If you enjoy my blog and would like to follow me on Facebook, I can be found at The Reluctant Survivor. And on Twitter @relucsurvivor.

I Was Not Prepared

“God does not call the equipped. He equips the called.” - Unknown

I have seen this quote, or a variation of it, for several years now. I tried to find its origin, but failed. I like to think someone like Albert Einstein said this. He was a brilliant man with a deep faith in God.

I often write about “saying yes” before my practical brain has the opportunity to close the gate that is my mouth. My “yes” seems to come when my heart knows it is the right thing to do and my eyes see no barriers. Once I’ve said “yes” I sometimes doubt my abilities, but then I remember this quote. (Don’t get me wrong, I have learned to say “no” when it is appropriate).

When I said “yes” to the Avon Walk in 2010 it did not seem daunting until I started training and planning to go to Houston for the 2011 Walk. I have now walked in four cities and will walk for the fifth time in Boston this year. My goal is to walk in each city where Avon hosts an event. Based on the list of cities, I have two additional walks in my future.

I never doubted saying “yes” to my friend Tina when she needed help with transporting her mother to Boston for cancer treatments. I had the time. I was treated at the same facility so I knew the ropes. As it turned out, every trip into Boston was uneventful. The winter days were sunny and the roads were clear. I never had to drive in a snow storm. Unplanned trips occurred when I was available; at times that I was not normally free. Getting up and leaving my house early was never a chore. Each event, each day with Linda reminded me of God’s grace. It was never difficult for me to do what needed to get done.

At the time my husband lovingly asked if I really wanted to do this. Was I prepared for how this was going to end? I assured him that I was aware of the risks and I knew what I was getting into. And I was prepared, because as our time together progressed I watched Linda deteriorate. I witnessed the tear-filled anger. I watched as her body wasted away. It was clear that she would become one of the 41,000 people in the U.S. who will die of breast cancer this year alone.  

I spent time with Linda less than 24 hours before she died. She appeared to be sleeping and was unresponsive to my greeting, which was new. However, her nurse lovingly assured me that I should talk to her. So I did. I told her about the weather, and that I got a new car that I thought she’d like. I read from the Book of John. I knew she was going to die.

I thought I was prepared. I wasn’t. I wasn’t prepared for the devastating heartbreak or the tears. I wasn’t prepared for the loss or helplessness that I would feel. Yet God equipped the called and I know this experience will forever be with me.

If you enjoy my blog and would like to follow me on Facebook, I can be found at The Reluctant Survivor. And on Twitter @relucsurvivor.

Unwritten

My friend Linda passed away. She died at 12:24 p.m. on Tuesday, March 17, 2015. I have no words for the grief I feel. Nor do I have any words for the devastating heartbreak that I experienced. I only know that my life has been changed forever. I have no regrets, except that I did not spend enough time with her while she was here. I know that the past 16 months together are important. I know that they have taught me something. I know that my perspective on this disease that is cancer has changed.

What am I going to do with it? It don’t know. I don’t know because I don’t know how I can or will take what I’ve learned and translate it into anything.

What I do know is that I would do it all again.

I love you Linda, in a way that I have never loved anyone else. You fought every single day, every single fight. Every new treatment protocol was a new opportunity. You even told me that being in an experiment was important for the next person. But you did not live. You did not achieve remission. You did not reach the Land of NED.

In the end you wanted to see the beauty of heaven where there are snowcapped mountains, and shells along the beach. I read to you from the Book of John. Jesus collected his disciples. He collected you. And you, my friend, taught me Grace.

And yes, I would do it all again. In a heartbeat.

 

If you enjoy my blog and would like to follow me on Facebook, I can be found at The Reluctant Survivor. And on Twitter @relucsurvivor.

Thank You

Thank you. Two little words. But two words that mean so much. Recently I had a fully blessed day at work. I met with colleagues regarding a project, and we are moving forward. I collaborated with a colleague on a student’s file. And I spent some time with another colleague engaged in conversation. At times I look at my colleagues and I am struck by the fact that some are friends; true friends. Others are a little bit more. They are “my people.” Friends and family. They are part of my universe.

I know that I have recounted my many blessings. I often enumerate them here. One of the greatest gifts I have been given is the gift of healing. Healing goes beyond the physical. There is emotional and psychological healing that accompanies the recovery from trauma. The item that ties this all together is our spirit. So yes, there is spiritual healing as well.

When I was diagnosed with breast cancer I had six weeks left in my law school studies. I knew that I was supposed to be in law school, so I could not imagine why I was suddenly confronted with this enormous road block to my goal of becoming an attorney. Determined, I finished my studies on time. It was December 2007 and my contract at work also ended. I was faced with chemotherapy treatments and studying for the bar exam. I embraced the challenge.

At the end of the law school journey I passed the California bar exam in July 2008. I was faced with choices and slowly got back into the workforce. I took a job doing what I knew; college financial aid administration. During the months that followed I found that in addition to my physical healing I needed emotional healing. That is where my beloved colleagues in the Massachusetts Community College system come in. I worked at two different community colleges before landing at my third and current institution. Along the way I worked with friends, I made new friends, and I was accepted as is. When I landed at my current college I also found that I was loved. And I had been loved all along the way.

That Friday a few weeks ago I was reminded of that grace. I worked with colleagues and friends who have the same vision, passion and goals that I do. Each one of us brings a different perspective and expertise to each of the projects we work on. I am excited for the future of our institution and higher education in general. And these people let me be excited. They let me be involved. They accept me for all my quirkiness, geekiness, and ways of looking at a project (or challenge or question). They let their children climb onto my lap. They share their latest technological gadget with me, like it is Christmas morning. They are willing to talk through a challenge.

At the end of the day, all I can say is “thank you.” Thank you is all I have to give back. Yet it is a place to start.

If you enjoy my blog and would like to follow me on Facebook, I can be found at The Reluctant Survivor. And on Twitter @relucsurvivor.