Never ignore a person who loves you, cares for you, and misses you. Because one day you might wake up from your sleep and realize that you lost the moon while counting the stars.~Unknown

Saturday, April 2, 2011

Under the wings of angels..

A week has passed since my last treatment and I feel like I am starting to surface again.  This treatment was tougher than the last but from what I hear, that is to be expected as the poisons accumulate in the body.  Friday is a blur but I do remember those who were there to sit with me.  A special thanks to Angie, Katie, Travis, Amy, Jacee, Carissa, and Joe who entertained themselves, me, my nurse and surrounded me with a sense of support and love.  Each of my children, my sister Amy, and my parents took a shift 'babysitting' me during those first tough days.  My friend Tammy arrived each early morning to drive me for my dreaded shots. I am coming to love those days...irrespective of how awful I feel because it is quiet, down time with the people I love the very most.

Right before I was diagnosed, I attended a retreat for women in Colorado.  The dining room was encased with  books and tapes from the retreat for sale as well as a select area that contained purses, jewelry, aprons, and other handmade items.  As we filtered in to eat, most of the women browsed through the books and other material for the retreat.  There were 500 women in attendance and I was surprised that more did not wander over to the multicolored fabrics that adorned the handmade items.  The chatter that filled the dining cabin as we ate was typical for women and did not dull until the announcement was made that truly changed the course of the evening.  As we finished the last morsel of a delightful dessert,(you know me, it's always about the food!) the origin of the handmade items was explained.  This was a Christian retreat so spirituality was included in the conversation and in the ambience of the room.  The announcer began to tell the story behind the handmade articles.  These articles had been made by women in third world villages to sell to support a charity that was fighting against young women of their country being sold into sexual slavery.  The stories told were shocking and dismal but as the evening ended, it was not the tragedy of the stories and situations that caught my attention and occupied my thoughts.  I was so touched by what happened as the dining room closed and we left for our individual cabins.  The once slightly overlooked area of colorful patterns became a shopping frenzy as women rushed to make purchases.  By the next day, the goods were gone-much to the dismay of those who had not yet made a purchase.  Such is the heart of a woman.

Such are the hearts of the women in my life.  It has been through the hearts and hands of the women who know and love me that I have been sustained and supported.  Without hesitation, the hearts and hands of women have banded together to form an endless circle of service to surround me with the love I have needed along the way.  As I knelt in front of the toilet while tears of sickness flowed, the cold rag on my neck from Amy had a healing, calming touch and reassured me that I could be okay. Friday, as Kyrie rested her head against mine and cried with me, I felt the calming closeness of friendship.  As each of my daughters sat on my lap and held me as we cried, I was blessed  again with a calming spirit of being loved.  As women brought meals to my home, I felt the calming assurance that I was being cared for.  As my mother made homemade soup and encouraged me to rest, I felt the calming safety of being a child again.  As my voicemal filled with the messages of love and support of my sisters and friends, I felt the calming safety of belonging.   Like the women at the retreat, these women who love so freely and give so generously rushed to give aid.  Truly, if one were to wonder where to find the love of the is in the women who, despite their own fears and heartaches, rush to lift the burdens of those who suffer around them.  How grateful I am to be found among the greatness and goodness of the women, young and old, who shelter me under the wings of angels as I struggle through this illness.

Gratitude and love always...Cyndi

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