I Wear Pink

I wear pink. I wear pink because it is my favorite color. I especially like the pastel shades.

It’s October.

For a few years after I was diagnosed I wore a pink ribbon pin every day during the month of October. I even gave out pink ribbon pins.

Over the past two years I have learned that breast cancer is not about awareness. It is not pink footballs and ribbons on food packaging. The truth is that cancer, any type of cancer can and does kill. When it comes to breast cancer in the U.S., over 40,000 women are expected to die this year alone. Additionally, it is estimated that over 2,300 men will be diagnosed with breast cancer in 2015. And 85% of breast cancer occurs in women with no family history of breast cancer. [www.breastcancer.org].

My friend Linda is one of this year’s statistics. A statistic that has remained relatively unchanged in 40 years. [See Ann Silberman's blog]. As a result of my very real experience with breast cancer and breast cancer death, my perspective has changed. It has changed from one of pink cheerleading to one of avid research supporter.

Last year, I lost my pins. Literally. I took that as a sign. I wear pink because it is my favorite color; not for awareness. We are aware. What we need is a cure.

 

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.

In Need of Grace

“To be alive is to be broken. And to be broken is to stand in need of grace.”

– Brennan Manning

I am not one to read books by Christian authors that are published as “inspirational.” However, I just finished reading The Hardest Peace; Expecting Grace in the Midst of Life’s Hard by Kara Tippetts. I discovered Kara and her story in 2014. I’m not really sure how I found her or her blog, Mundane Faithfulness. What I do know is that I came across her story at a time of pain and struggle. Her words touched my heart. The short description of her book made me buy it to give to a friend.

I continue to follow Kara’s blog, though she left this world a few days after my friend Linda. I continue to be drawn to Kara’s words as her friend Blythe Hunt reposts Kara’s blog entries under Kara’s Collection. So recently I bought a copy of The Hardest Peace for myself. I do not want to make this a book review; rather it is reflective of how Kara’s words touched my heart.

Kara’s story is familiar to anyone who has gone through cancer treatment that included surgery, chemotherapy and radiation. And yet her story, like our own, is unique. While the book presents as Kara’s testimony I know first-hand what she, and those who cared for her, went through. There is a deep, ugly side to cancer treatment, and cancer death. Her chapter on losing her hair was deeply profound for me, because while she touched on the struggle there was so much that remained unsaid. I knew exactly what she really meant with her kind and gentle words. To be honest, my words would be much harsher. But I get it. I never thought of myself as prideful in my looks until I lost my hair. That was, and still is, the most devastating part of my cancer story.

I tell you this because Kara’s story has made me take a look at my life; my faith. I write about seeking grace. Now I know that grace met me on that table where I lay for my first biopsy. It was grace that was with me during my treatment. I discovered grace during my years of healing. And it is grace that I need as I continue to move forward.

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.

Life & Death

My cousin is dead. There’s not much more to say about that. He died almost three weeks ago. Technically he is an in-law. He was married to my cousin. He has been part of our lives since we were teenagers. That’s a long time.

My cousins are like my siblings. The six of us grew up together and we have a tight bond. Losing David was a shock. He is the first of our generation to die. As you can imagine, there is a huge hole in his absence, though I’m not sure it’s fully realized yet. But I don’t want to talk about his death. I want to share with you his life.

In many ways David was larger than life. Everything he did he did to the fullest. He loved his wife and cared for her as if she were a princess. His sons were his whole life. He did not hold back on correcting them if they were going astray, but he also showed them great love through his actions.

And if his sons were his world, his grandchildren were his universe. What he would not do for them! His eyes would sparkle just talking about them. He would grin ear to ear when they came over for a visit. He took them with him wherever he went. He could not get enough of them.

Beyond his immediate family he cared deeply for his extended family. He took care of his mother-in-law. He helped his father-in-law with yard work and other chores that are now a challenge for my uncle. He adored my mother and my sister; always having a kind word for my mother when they spoke on the phone. My sister was his kid sister. Their friendship was filled with teasing and jokes that only siblings are allowed to exchange.

As I shared with friends, his life was defined by passion. If he loved you, he loved you fully. David showed us what it meant to live. And now he is gone. It hurts.

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.

Manna From A Kitchen Drawer

I have two cats. We feed them dry cat food. In fact, we have been feeding them a prescription food for about three years due to Kiwi’s bout with bladder stones. We buy the food in bulk and then store it in a large Rubbermaid^® bin to preserve freshness. The container is kept in a drawer in our kitchen. Yes, they know the drawer and will sometimes sit in front of it “asking” to be fed.

Recently, when I was feeding them I was struck by the fact that they eat the exact same food all the time. The same food. Every day. It reminded me of the Old Testament story in Exodus 16 where God fed the Israelites manna from heaven.

I wonder what my kitties think. Is it manna?

 

Or at least a miracle found in a kitchen drawer.

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.

#51

I celebrated my birthday this week. My husband took me on a three night stay at our favorite B&B in northern Vermont. We spent three days taking moderate-to-easy hikes. It was three days of fresh air, sunshine, and a bit of exercise. It was just what I wanted.

Every year my husband asks, “So, do you feel older?” Every year I have said “no,” but this year I said “yes.” It’s not that I feel ancient or sick. Instead, I look at my face and I see how I’ve aged. My eyes show the years with small crow’s feet and dark circles. My hands do not look young, though they are not knotted with arthritis yet. It takes me longer to “get going” in the morning, but keeping with a routine helps. I would not say that I feel old, but I am definitely aware that I am now older.

Last year I celebrated turning 50 with two parties and a dinner. It was a joyous week with friends and relatives. The past 12 months have seen a lot of changes; both good and sad. As you know, I lost my friend Linda. I miss her terribly. I am often reminded of her by a sight or something on the radio. While her death was tragic, I have so many fond memories that make me smile that I would not trade a single minute with her.

My job at work has expanded and I am now working full time. I genuinely love my job. I like getting up and going to work in the morning. I am involved in many projects and new initiatives. The benefits are great, and I am able to take vacations to disconnect and recharge without guilt. I am participating in a leadership program over this next year. It will be a year of personal study and professional growth.

When I look back on the last year there have been a lot of changes. And while I’m not sure what 51 is supposed to feel like I am not disappointed.

If you enjoy my blog and would like to follow me I can be found on Twitter @relucsurvivor.

Reese the Inn Cat

 

 

Reese the Inn Cat

Is there to greet

All of the guests

Old friends to meet

 

Her purr is loud

And if you are new

She'll bump your leg

And give you a "mew"

 

She'll come to your room

to wander around

And stay if you let her

Her graciousness abounds

 

She tries to escape

to the kitchen or yard

But bringing her back

Isn't that hard

 

She's Queen of the Inn

And wants you to know

She'll miss your company

When you have to go

 

She's a cat full of love

As her purrs will attest

At Rabbit Hill Inn

She's simply the best

Survivor's Guilt

The notion of survivor’s guilt has been presented to me several times over the past couple of weeks, which makes me think I should address it. By definition, survivor’s guilt is “feelings of guilt for having survived a catastrophe in which others died.” [Dictionary.com]

The most recent challenge came from a dear, close friend who asked, “Have you ever questioned God as to why you survived and Linda didn’t?” The answer to that question is quite frankly, no. It has never occurred to me to ask God “why.” Rather, I ask “to what purpose?” I believe that everything has a reason; the Book of Ecclesiastes speaks to that very philosophy. For what reason was I spared?

Even from the very beginning I did not ask, “Why me?” I felt on overwhelming calm, and from that moment I knew I was alright. Each step of the way, every twist along this road has kept me asking, “What do you want from me God?” Along the way my heart has said “yes” and my life has been forever changed.

Maybe, just maybe, it’s not about me.

I miss you every day, my friend.