Remember, Remember the Fifth of November

How can I forget? Today a year ago I was “officially” diagnosed with bowel cancer.

I say “officially” because one of my GPs had already spilled the beans when I wasn’t feeling well as he could see the scan results and knew exactly what was causing my intermittent stomach upsets.

But the fifth of November was the day it all became REAL.

“We need to operate as soon as possible.” Said the consultant.

Petrified of any kind of operation I blurted out, “But I’m moving later this month.”

“What’s more important, moving or your health?”

Well I could have swung for him then.

He took me to another room and showed me the scan photo as proof that an operation was imperative, not that I have any sort of training to interpret the grey and black blobs of my internal organs. I gave up biology in third year preferring chemistry, much more maths involved and pretty coloured reactions to play with!

The image was bad, on so many levels, and at that point I totally lost if and got hysterical. My boys had already lost their dad it was inconceivable that they should lose me too.

The prospect was bleak and I couldn’t compute how I could both move and have an operation at the same time. I’ve double booked myself on many occasions and I knew this wasn’t going to work.

Fortunately, I had a friend with me, she took me to a nearby café, I had a cup of tea and slice of cherry pie while she calmly worked out possible scenarios for me.

She is very much the planner and as I sat savouring the pie, squishing whole cherries between my tongue and roof of my mouth, drying my eyes at the same time, she sorted out how I could rally around my local friends from church to help out. There must be someone I could stay with in this situation?

Mentally I went through a list of everyone I knew nearby, very dear friends, with spare rooms who might accommodate me while I recuperated and regained my strength after a lifesaving operation.

I discounted every one!

Moving nearer my parents was the best thing for my health – the consultant didn’t have a clue about my personal history, why moving was the important for my mental well-being and it finally sunk into my friend that family was the most important part of the equation.

My dad was, and still is, having regular chemo. There was no way him and mum could keep coming up to see me. They’d already made two trips in the past month.

On my way home I called in to see a friend who is a retired GP and told him what the consultant had actually said. He talked things over with me and agreed I should put the medical stuff on hold until I moved.

When I got home, I rang my own GP surgery. I wanted to speak, not to the doctor who had originally sent me for tests who was a fairly new addition to the practice but the one who knew me and the boys and had known Andrew and all we had been through.

He rang me back and was very honest with me about my chances. He even came around that evening to see me and give me the strongest hug I have ever experienced! Subsequently he wrote an amazing letter to my new GP practice, which the receptionist told me had her in tears!

And so my path was set before me. November was filled with things to do, excursions and visits to friends that were already planned and a moving date fixed in stone.

Somehow, I managed every single one before the trauma of having to be diagnosed all over again before finally ending up with emergency surgery.

I have to thank God for the way things worked out. On paper it all seemed unlikely and impossible and yet I’m still here a year on to tell the tale. But I’m crying as I type this, amazed by the miracle of my journey, from North to South, through cancer diagnosis, lifesaving surgery and beyond.

I’ll always remember that fifth of November, the fireworks, family and friends.

Pansies in my garden for thoughts and remembrance.
They are also sometimes called heartsease.

Love is in the air...

I’m off to a wedding this weekend, a friend on facebook has just announced she is engaged and only last week my parents celebrated their fifty third wedding anniversary.

So, with hands on hips and stamping my feet, I want to know when’s it my turn for a little romance in my life?

Last week I was at a new church course looking at our journey’s – mines been an interesting one, up a few ladders, down far too many snakes and generally going in circles and ending up exactly where I started, at least geographically.

Everyone on the course was being really honest and most admitted their own “spiritual” journey with God perhaps wasn’t so spiritual, we all fall far short and generally struggle.

But more importantly for me was when we got into smaller groups and got more personal. I had a chance to talk about Andrew and remembered why I’d fallen in love with him in the first place.

It's all too easy, when being the positive "glass half full" girl that I usually am, to dismiss the past or at the very least remember all the bad bits. My new life needs to be more hopeful than the old, so let’s colour the past in muted shades of blue and grey.

Andrew suffered with depression and was often hard work to live with, sometimes I concentrate on those aspects of his character because it is then so much easier to live without him.

I no longer have to walk on egg shells, I can leave things in a mess without comment, I can dye my hair all colours of the rainbow and squirt perfume to my heart’s content!

But I miss that person to snuggle next to on the sofa (especially now youngest is back at uni. He’s the best TV companion, in a lot of ways even better company that his dad in that respect).

I miss someone special to hold hands with and share adventures, even the little ones walking around the garden. I miss having quirky “in” jokes and being made to feel like the most important person in the room.

It was always my plan, once I’d moved, to try online dating. Hmmmm – I did try it a few years back but had very little success, actually I was probably only on it for about a week then asked for my money back! Hahaha.

The cancer diagnosis and chemo put the breaks on things but now I am all clear I have a new lease of life. And a new attitude too.

Life really is short, I am only 51, reasonably attractive and honestly I think I’m a good catch, even with the scars and baggage! I am a survivor.

I’m cautiously excited at the prospect of meeting new people, I might actually go on a date this time and not run away and cancel my subscription.

I’ve paid up for 3 months – well there was this nice-looking man who seemed perfect and if I wanted to find out more, I needed to join properly and part with my cash.

I sent a “like” to show I was interested – he’s been online since but never responded. I “liked” someone else’s profile and so far no response from him either…. Oh well I’ve waited this long, I might as well hang around for the “right” one to come along! Its their loss!!!!

One of the things I hated about online dating last time was how judgemental you become of profile pictures; you can so easily dismiss someone because their nose is too big without really finding out what their personality is like.

This time I have a new plan.

I’ve remembered what made me fall in love with Andrew, he wasn’t the handsomest of men, his hair was slightly scruffy and his dress sense was actually quite shambolic but he had really kind eyes, a killer smile and wicked sense of humour.

So let’s start with those qualities and see where it takes me….

Love is in the air at the moment – let’s just hope its infectious and I catch a jolly good dose of it!

Dressed to Impress?

Now my chemo is over I can start making plans for my future.

A date that has been in the diary for a long time is my nephew's wedding in just over a months time. His fiance is gorgeous and they make a fabulous couple. I can't wait to celebrate their special day with them.

But what shall I wear? I haven't had time for dress shopping yet. I'm now trying to figure out when I can fit it in.  I have dresses in the wardrobe that would suit the occasion if October starts warm and sunny, but do I need an outfit for a cold snap or a soggy wet day?

I've not yet got to the having nightmares about it stage, after all I only the "giddy aunt" of the groom, I need something elegant yet understated to coordinate with whatever hair colour I decide upon!!!

As these thoughts swirled roiund my head I remembered what Andrew's aunt had worn to our own wedding, some crazy creation that appeared to have been dragged our from the back of the wardrobe.

A first line for a poem popped into my head as I climbed in the shower, always a good place for inspiration to strike.

But the words took an unexpected twist, inspired by a perculiar conversation yesterday and then the new caereer path a dear friend is now following.

So I hope you like my own crazy creation of words today and I hope they paint a colourful image.

At the church she rocked up,

                                in a musty old frock

That had obviously seen better days.

Baby blue, garish green,

                                should never be seen.

It attracted everyone's gaze,

With flowers and birds,

                             a pattern absurd,

A beady eye over one nipple.

Well she caused a commotion,

                                    a drop in the ocean,

While titters spread ripple by ripple

The celebrant started,

                                  prayers for the departed,

Trying not to join in with the laughter.

But a dress of such brightness,

                                          seams pulled in full tightness,

Is enough to shock now and hereafter!

Resonance

My previous post about being lost garnered several positive comments on Facebook and the most commonly used word was “resonance”, how my own story aligned with others.

Everyone’s story is different but there are common threads that bind us together.

Because I’m a bit geeky and like to look things up I did a Google search on resonance and came up with mostly lots of physics stuff. I even discovered what the Dopler Effect was – if you’ve ever watched The Big Bang Theory where Sheldon goes to a fancy dress party as the Dopler Effect you might just find that amusing – at least I did! And it gave me something to discuss with youngest son who has an A level in Physics!

Resonance in humanity and my writing is perhaps less defined, while one friend was drawn to the comparisons of having an empty nest for one, others connected with the lostness, and some have shared a similar chemo journey, by themselves or with others.

I’m currently reading Michelle Obama’s book Becoming. Some of her story resonates with me especially the humble beginnings of a young girl who thought she wasn’t quite enough.

She grew up in a poor neighbourhood in Chicago, in a rented apartment with a brother and very loving parents who provided for her, often going without themselves.

I grew up in a council house, and as I grew older, I was aware that other friends had different family set ups, maybe with more money, more expensive presents, foreign holidays. But my childhood was happy, loving and secure, in the same way Michelle Obama’s early days were.

But then our story deviates, her brother was older and he was the trail blazer going off to college first and in so doing giving Michelle the confidence to follow in his wake.

Suddenly she was enough, she pushed on through, working so hard to reach her academic goals.

I was the older sister who went ahead, never thinking about when I would stop my education. I always pursued that next rung of the ladder, sixth form, Polytechnic – not quite up to university standards. But then I didn’t quite believe I was enough – something was always pulling me back a bit. A little niggle in my ear, that I was the girl from the council house, not cut out for such lofty aspirations. To be honest at the time I never totally understood this brave new world I had stepped into.

And these thoughts can stay with you for years and leave you feeling bewildered for a long time.

Perhaps my journey last week was a reminder of those feelings.

But as the comments rolled in like waves on a beach, I remembered my dreams of writing. Never forgotten but so often pushed aside. I have a voice and what I write resonates and connects people. What a privilege to have such a gift!

I am good enough and my words deserve to be heard, I needed to be reminded of that once more, this seems to be my purpose.

Getting lost the other week was yet another wake up call – stop wasting time – this is your calling. Getting lost gave me the space and time to write, for pleasure but also with purpose.

Who knows where it will ultimately lead but I have to pursue this path. I have to plan and make the time, I have to focus and push away the doubts.

This world has become so fractured it needs people to find the resonance and connect us together again, seeking out the common threads rather than the issues that divide us.

Ok I might not entirely save the world or set it all alight with my sparkling prose but just a few more connections, a bit of resonance and maybe I will make a little corner of the world a better place where we become found not lost!

Present Tense

What seems like a long time ago I wrote a blog called Unravelling Edges… about how my life came undone when I unexpectedly lost my husband. About six months in I wrote a post about being caught between the past and the present.

    You can read it here - Caught between the past and future tense

About six months after my emergency operation and I find myself in a similar place.

I’ve been sitting in my lounge with the French doors open in the afternoons, sun streaming in accompanied by the laughter of children bouncing on a trampoline a few gardens away.

Oh those halcyon days of laughter, listening to the bossy child who dictates the play, I recognise my younger self. Those days are long gone for me. Even my own boys are so far past this stage. I can remember clearly but can never recreate such scenes.

And then at the other end of the scale, spring is wedding season and so many friends have been celebrating anniversaries and it honestly fills me with such joy but when I bumped into someone celebrating their sixty third wedding anniversary, I marvelled and yet…. my husband never even got to live 63 years!

The past cannot be reclaimed but my future is somehow limited in so many ways.

There’s always the fear the cancer might come back for a start but then there are other things that will probably never happen for me and I grieve for a life that could have been …

I’m not saying my life is total rubbish just that I need some readjustment to get me back on course.

On a larger scale I worry about, Brexit, global warming, the rise of selfishness and violent crime.

I guess life was ever like this.

Youngest son found out the other day they are making a musical of Back to the Future.

“WHY?” he asked!!!

Being a child of the 80s and the same age as Marty McFly I think it’s a great idea.

But however great the 80s were as a teenage we lived under the shadow of the cold war, a nuclear bomb could drop any day, AIDS was the pandemic to wipe out millions, there were miners’ strikes and civil unrest.

At school we learnt in geography all about greenhouse gases but somehow that was someone else’s problem to fix, we were school children. It would be sorted and by 2017 we would all have hover boards!

Obviously, we don’t have hover boards and now it the young people leading the way – how things have changed!

And I guess what I’m trying to say is that things are always changing.

The past often looks rosy and the future uncertain. Especially as we grow older with more responsibilities on our plate.

Or maybe there are days when the past looks bleak and the future is something to be embraced!

Perhaps a mixture of the two is the best approach to take?

I do look back with fondness at the past, especially with all the old photos I’ve dug up since moving. Memories made that can never be taken away.

I do look forward mostly with hope, the cancer is gone at least for now and the countdown to the end of chemo is beginning.

Sometimes it’s the little things, a bird singing, a flower blooming, something once lost now found.

We are all caught between the past and future but in the end it’s how we live today that really counts!

Lent Challenge 2019

Once more I’ve set myself a challenge and once again, I’m not sure I can keep it up! Always a dreamer, a starter of something new but rarely a finisher, I’m too distracted by something new and shiny!

Anyway, my challenge to myself was to share old blog posts on Facebook throughout Lent, it seemed at the time a bit easier than the idea of giving up chocolate for 40 days.

I’ve written lots in the past and much of it about my faith and those are the things I feel I should share. I’ve learnt much over the years and it’s good to remind ourselves of previous lessons. Life is so often cyclical and we do have a tendency to make the same mistakes – it’s not just me, is it?

Old habits die hard and I guess that’s what Lent is about – examining ourselves and creating new routines that are hopefully more honouring to God and the ways he calls us to walk in.

As I said I’ve written much in the past but I am aware of many words roaring around my head that I need to get down.

A lot has happened in the past few months and tor those who don’t know, I will get to that another day as I unpick my deep thoughts.

I suppose ultimately my goal is to write more and get back into the writing habit, it is what I feel “called” to do.

Sounds a bit pompous, foolish even – why should my words matter?

In a lot of ways my writing is personal but I know in the past it has helped others and I do have a desire to see my words reach more people.

As part of my own personal lent devotions this year I sent for the Tearfund booklet Enough. Actually I thought it was a daily email drop but this is somehow better, having something tangible in my hand to flick through.

Today’s reflection is entitled – Foolishness.

Foolishness – well I know all about that. I am the girl who does daft things, who slips over gracefully giggling in the mud while out walking with friends, who loves dressing up and acting out Bible stories in school assemblies. I’m typically self-deprecating, I dye my hair bright pink, I love Jesus, I write silly stories and poems to make my friends laugh.

I’m “mad as a box of frogs” as one of my friends would say!

I guess my moto is life is too short to NOT be foolish.

So today’s Tearfund devotion starts with Isaiah 1:17

            “Learn to do right; seek justice. Defend the oppressed.

            Take up the cause of the fatherless; plead the case of the widow.”

Obviously the second sentence is something very close to my heart, those words are a reminder of how God wraps me and my boys up in his loving arms. We have been blessed by many prayers and gifts since Andrew died that have upheld us and made us strong.

My boys amaze me every day by how they have grown into wonderfully caring and considerate young men. I am so blessed.

And the best thing to do with the blessings we are given is to in turn bless others.

The Tearfund devotion ends today with a Franciscan benediction, which finishes with these words…

“may God bless us with enough foolishness to believe that we can make a difference in this world, so that we can do what other’s claim cannot be done.”

In writing these words to share, is it foolishness, is it a blessing to others? Sometimes you just have to put thing out there, sow some seeds and see where they fall and how they grow.

If we don’t try to make a difference then we never will.

So I shall endeavour to keep up my writing and reposting challenge as we go through lent and see where it leads.

It really is a better plan than giving up chocolate – now where did I put the chocolate biscuits?

A Time to Remember All Souls

It was a privilege to host the 10:45 All Souls service at Emmanuel Church today as we especially remembered those we have personally lost in the past year.

Next week we will “remember” in a much broader context and that’s right and proper but this service in some ways validates our own grief.

And I do mean “our grief” for those who don’t know my own story this is what I shared today…

To be honest this year has been a year of funerals; I lost my nana and my mother-in-law within the space of a month. A good friend of mine recently lost her husband suddenly; we’ve lost friends from church including this week one our dear retired clergy.

I can honestly say I didn’t cry at any of the funerals I’ve been to this year, I don’t think I am hard hearted but nothing can every compare with what happened seven years ago this month when I lost my husband, suddenly and completely out of the blue.

To say my world was totally turned upside down is frankly a whopping great understatement. Andrew was only 48 when he died, I was 42 and our boys were 13 and 10.

In some ways it is easier in the beginning, there is so much to do and people are kind. My church family has always been a real support to me.

But there comes a time when even if other people don’t say it to you out loud you might think “when will this grief be over?”

Although actually I still feel quite numb, as I said I rarely cry at funerals and maybe that’s a symptom of taking anti-depressants. I’ve tried to reduce them but each time I do I get so far and then have a massive wobble which isn’t pretty, especially for my close friends who feel the brunt of it.

I used to think grief was more or less a finite thing with a beginning, death, and an end, getting over it and moving on to the next stage of life, whatever that may be.

I’ve actually not moved much in seven years.

My boys have grown up, into handsome young men, and their lives have progressed, new friends have come into my life and some have already moved on in that time. Old friends have moved back into my life. Everything is changing for everyone else and I so often feel stuck in a rut.

I have questioned God - what is this all about? Why did this have to happen? Isn’t God supposed to bring good things out of bad for those who trust him? It says that in the Bible so it MUST be true.

So what’s the plan? God doesn’t always answer clearly; he doesn’t email you a personal blueprint. If he has mine’s got lost in cyberspace.

There are lots of well-meaning but sometimes glib answers out there from Christians and non-Christians alike. Time doesn’t necessarily “heal” but it does help put things into perspective.

The biggest thing I have learned over these past seven years is not to rush my grief. I’ve learned to go with the flow and I was always such a planner before. When I look back objectively with my sensible head on I can see so much that God has worked out in my life.

He has been a constant guide and comforter to me, when I remember to talk to him and when I actually listen to him. In the same way I have been a constant guide and comforter for my two boys when they talk and listen to me.

The bottom line is my faith is a relationship not just blindly following a set of rules.

I don’t really want my boys to grow up too quickly and I know when they do leave home (the youngest will be heading to university next autumn), hopefully I will have given them the skills they need to fend for themselves in the big wide world.

Then I can properly start my own new chapter.

But these seven years haven’t been wasted and my future will be built on the foundations of my life so far, being a wife, a mother, a widow, a friend and someone with just a bit more patience, wisdom and understanding than I ever had before.