Tag: #soulmates

Share the Healing

My comment yesterday about the human cock, worried some friends. Maybe they think I’m going to start writing about sex. I don’t feel a need to give you the details of something so sacred to me. Some things are best kept private.

In finding a more authentic self, do I need to tell everything?

If so, it will fall to the pages of a journal. You read about my past loves quite frequently, but I don’t use their name. What you read is what I learned from the encounter, not always the encounter itself.

I wasn’t ready for most of what happened in my life, so why would I expect you to be. Placing a name to the feelings I may be wrestling with is like blaming them for what I feel. No darling. I’m a big girl, and I make my own choices.

I feel at a very infinite level. There is scar tissue inside of me, not only from the Breast Cancer, but life itself. The scars are proof enough I showed up for it, and you get to read the beauty of it. There is enough hurt in the world. I am here to share the healing.

 

The Silver Bracelet

My heart is heavy this fall morning in Texas. My best friend in the Chemo room, went to be with the Lord this week. She is healed, happy and whole, but we all miss her smiling face.

When I walked into that room to begin my treatment in April, and God knew I needed a friend. Someone special, that I would connect with immediately. That would be Vicki Davis.

I think I drove her crazy with my positive outlook on life. Nothing she could say would dampen my spirit. She tried to be grumpy with me because she had been down a very long road with this disease. I would smile at her, and just love on her until she smiled in return.

We had an immediate bond, and were good for one another. She showed me what true strength looked like, and I showed her I could love her no matter what. I marveled at everything she, and her body went through, hoping for a cure.

She was growing weary in her fight, and I asked her, “How much can the human body take?” She said, “We will see!”

We were scheduled for Chemo on the same day, Tuesdays, at about the same time. When you are sitting in a Chemo chair, you can either laugh, cry, or sleep. We chose to laugh. Anyone who has heard my laugh knows, it’s loud. Vicki had a laugh that matched. Both of us laughing was quite disruptive.

One time, we sat in a semi private part of the room, away from everybody else. You could look across the room and see everyone lined up sleeping through their treatment. Vicki and I were trying to outdo one another with stories of stupid things we had done in our lives.

We busted out laughing at the same time, and startled the sleeping souls lined up across the way. Like a row of dominoes, they jumped, looked around, relaxed and then smiled. They were relieved it was just us having more fun than we should have been. That was life with Vicki.

My last day of Chemo, as I was getting ready to leave, I felt a tug at my heart. It was time to let go of something very precious to me. I was given a bracelet last Christmas by another lady God placed in my life. Little did that lady know, I would be wearing it during Chemo treatments, a few months later.

My Chemo was coming to an end, but Vicki’s wasn’t quite over yet.

be_still_and_know_2_crop

It was engraved with one of my favorite verses, and encompassed my wrist as a reminder of what I was supposed to be doing. Psalm 46:10, “Be still and know that I am God.”

It was a challenge for Vicki and me to sit still in those chairs. It was long hours, but being with Vicki made the time fly by. On my last day of Chemo, the nurses saved a chair for me to sit beside her.

I gazed at her resting in her chair, and sat down in mine. There was silence between the two of us, but the love was always there. Her IV bag was almost empty, as the nurse had just hung mine. I got out of my chair, kneeled down beside her, slid the bracelet off my wrist, and onto hers.

Her eyes opened as she smiled at me groggily.

She touched the bracelet, and regretted not having her reading glasses, so she could see it more clearly. I told her what is was, and what it said, and that I wanted her to have it for the remainder of her journey.

That was not even three weeks ago. It was her last Chemo that day too. Thank you God for bringing her home.