Spring had arrived, despite the bulging hook of ice and snow that still hung precariously from the dramatic crag of brownstone cliff that itself, hovered above the recently frozen expansive waters of Lake Superior. Spring in this part of the world is nebulous. Here one day, and thinly disguised the next, as hail and ice brutally beat against the earth’s skin, brought by the winds that prevail from any direction they choose.
News reached me in pieces, dribbling in, chunks and streams, waves of glided gold, and tarry sludge. They didn’t get it all, more biopsies needed. Treatment uncertain. No, please no. Not these winds.
Words, my medium, grossly inadequate. Who had I been trying to fool, thinking words could replicate the feeling in my gut, the churning, the ping pong of moving pictures in my head. Her laughter, like that of a wild horse tossing a groomed magnificent mane, was surrounded by her own mane of tight wiry gray hair that haloed her like Queen Elizabeth’s Ruff collar. Mouth wide open, a slight lean in, a pseudo hug, nudge or a hand on the shoulder. She invited you into her laughter. Poetic, often her conversations were metaphors latched together, punctuated with literary references. Heart Art her medium for what lived within.
It is this temporary-ness of everything, the fleeting edges, the melting snow, the waning daylight, the fallen blossoms that tire us so, yet give us life. It is as Carl Jung said, the light creates the darkness. The dark reveals the light. I struggle to keep learning the lesson. You know the one. Treasuring each breath, each moment. The July yellow of the finches catch my eye and I remember. Their tiny wings, attached with marionette like fibers to its body, enabling the cruise and glide and flutter. One moment perched on the shepherd’s hook and the next high in the dancing maple tree limbs.
Now multiple rounds of chemo have traveled through her body, and continue still. Rendered bald, her tightly curled mane is on the way back. Once a wild woman of mystical proportions, she now resembles a New York literary critic. Short sassy hair, oversized glasses, and an intense focus. But, still the same laugh. She said it isn’t as bad as she thought but it is a lot harder. I understood.
A yellow leaf lay on the ground this morning. And the orioles no longer come to the feeder like they did a month ago. Last night I watched the pond’s surface, littered with cotton wood fibers, and noticed the sun had gone down below the trees to the west. Early. Long shadows already, now, lay across the grass. A few more yellow leaves have fallen.
I walked into the bathroom to do a breast exam. No longer worried about body image, or size of anything, I only hope for lump free tissue. And the ability to take a deep breath. Freedom from feeling nauseous every three weeks. The ability to observe the exquisite mystical nature that presents itself to me every day in eloquent forms. The ability to love my family, to remember words, to be able to move, to make memories. Oh, and to laugh. Laugh with my beloveds. Yes, open my mouth, tip my head back, lean in and laugh. Together.
Janet E Hartwick Sterk
July 14, 2015
Julie Stahl
Absolutely beautiful, Janet.
HealingJourneys
Thank you Julie. I am honored you read it and replied. I love keeping track of you on FB. Thanks for being such a dear freind to Chloe.
Nancy Weiman
Janet — Is this about you? Are you ok or in the midst of treatments?
HealingJourneys
Nancy – how very kind of you to inquire. No, it is a freind of mine. But isn’t true we are hearing of so many of our dear ones with devastating diagnosis. So, I guess it is a universal reminder. Thank you Nancy for reading and commenting!
Mary Anne Bunkers
Sounds very familiar to me from 2012. Fear, the reality that this time it’s really you. But it isn’t the end. We do what we need to do and thank God for life, and good medical care. Then life goes on. Then we wait for life’s next challenge. God is good!
HealingJourneys
You are one of my inspirations in life Mary Ann! Full of sage wisdom and honesty and grit. thank you for being in my life.
dorothy
I am she of whom Janet speaks. She and her partner, Jon, have been with me/us throughout and I appreciate her portrayal here. It’s interesting that I have laughed more since the diagnosis, not at “it”, or at me, but rather at the joys, rapture, and silliness that life engenders if one pays attention. Humor is healing; laughter lifts. The world calls more clearly now and actually expects more consciousness from me.
I have spoken with Janet about the cognitive dissonance caused by treatment – leaving me feeling “at a distance from myself.” The most significant being that I cannot accomplish the physical feats of which I have always been capable; cannot complete a daily list, activating the fear that I am lazy. The other, the loss of my hair: My self image much more of the wayward, throw-back hippie with softness spiraling about her head than a sophisticated critic of anything. It will be back, my hair, and with it I will again be again more at home in the world. Thank you, Janet, for the continued attention and care.
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HealingJourneys
And on we go… together. Thank you Dorothy.