Tuesday, February 19, 2008

Bartering with God

When I was a little girl, my biggest fear was that my Granny Coady was going to die. As a child, my grandmother was my constant source of love, comfort and security. She was in every sense, home, and the thought of losing her terrified me. I remember lying in my bed one night; I was about 10 years old, and praying to God to just let my granny live until I was 16. (I might note that my grandmother was in perfect health and the prayer was coming from a complete place of paranoia. Also, to me at the time, 16 seemed to be an appropriate age where I would consider myself grown up enough to deal with the devastation that would follow the death of my beloved granny). It’s no great surprise that when my 16th birthday arrived I was overwhelmed with the weight of the bargaining chip I had played. This is where it started, my incessant need to haggle with the divine.

Despite the fact that over time my relationship with and notions of God have changed, old habits die hard. Sometimes at night, when I’m rocking Coady back to sleep, that old familiar feeling of panic will rise up in my throat and I find myself silently suggesting, just until he doesn’t need me, or just until he can remember how much I love him. Don’t get me wrong, I certainly don’t entertain the idea of dying as even a possibility, I’m just saying, if I can buy a little time here and there, there’s no point in wasting an opportunity.

It’s been just over a month since my diagnosis. Last week I had Dave shave my head. I cried and he held me.

There is something to be said for having to face one’s mortality. I feel authentic, strong, loved and at peace with even the rebellious cells in my body. On a daily basis, whenever I become aware that my mind is drifting I say to myself:
I am in the process of healing my body.
I reject the disease in my breast.
My tumor is melting away like the snow.
Thank you for this lesson in gratitude.

It’s getting late, tomorrow morning I’ll call my granny and tell her about my day.


chrissy said...

Your writing is exquisit!! I love you & miss all our Anne store days! You are a wonderful woman & a true inspiration!


Anonymous said...

I'm going to repeat what I said on your facebook account -I do hope you consider writing a book - you're ability to express what you're feeling in writing is unbelievable, and I have no doubt that you could help others with your insights. You have an amazing gift.


lisalou said...

Spring is in the air. With each passing day, the sun grows warmer and shines brighter. I know this because at mid-day my dust bunnies sparkle and glisten in previously cavernous corners of my livingroom.

The days last longer. The shadows are shorter and, somehow, more innocent. The snowdrops have pushed their way up through the cracked cement of our driveway...

It's snow melting season.

Anonymous said...

thanks for the link by email Jenn, thanks for sharing a everything... You made me cry again when I read this.
You look beautiful bald... the family of baldys is pretty priceless too. You know its not that far off your regular style... some people might not even notice...

Tracy said...

Welcome to blogging! I love your site picture!

Another fabulous post :-) I really look forward to your updates and insights into how you are feeling. I will continue to send all my positive energy your way and I too will envision your cancer melting away like the snow :-)


Karen said...

Welcome to blogging, it is addictive, fun and therapeutic. You are an amazing writer and that photo.. wow! Thank you for sharing your journey.
My family has made you cookies three times and three times my family ate them - what can I say, 5 kids... I can't always police the jar... you are in all our prayers.

Anonymous said...

You are an incredible person Jenn. Draw strength from your loved ones, especially Dave and Coady. You will beat this, it is NOT your time. Thinking about you all the time...
Laura ( Parker )