I.amN.otD.eadY.et children so listen up!

My journey began in January of 2023. As fall slowly creeps into our overnight temperatures, I’m coming up on two years since the day my doctor called and told me the news.

She sounded apologetic. It was after 5 p.m. She called a surgeon she worked with to please review the chest X-ray. He followed up immediately, saying he couldn’t help me and would have his nurse refer me to an oncologist.

I walked into my husband’s office and said, “I have a tumor in my lung. It is what it is.”

Then, I turned and walked away. No tears, no anger, no fear. It must have been a shock.

From that moment, my life changed. The doctor appointments and surgeries, biopsies, blood draws, and treatments were overwhelming, to say the least. Still, I had not shed a tear.

Numbness.

I told one of my providers (I learned new words in this journey about navigating the healthcare system) that I would do my best NOT to lose my sense of humor about any of this. It wasn’t easy. It wasn’t that hard either. People were so kind, and the things we went through when viewing from another lens were pretty humorous. 

How funny can cancer be? Well, everyone’s life will eventually end. We don’t know the how or the when so why not laugh all the way?

It took me a while to share my news with friends and family. Still, no tears.

Only when I began to see how many people in my circle have cancer, had cancer, or died from cancer, I began to tear up a little bit. Silently, in the morning or late at night when I spend my time meditating and contemplating and writing did the tears come.

Only once did I have an emotional outburst and it had to do more with my children than with the cancer although the two are closely related.

Until now.

The images of shrinking brain tumors to not-noticeable on the images over nine months following the gamma knife surgery opened the flood gates. I read the MRI report in the Hilton Garden Inn in Rochester at 7 a.m. on August 27, burrowed under the covers, and wept. Relieved, alone, grateful.

And I haven’t stopped. My grateful tears are so close to the surface that it doesn’t take much to bring them out. I’m on the edge of crying about everything and everyone.

This is what I know about tears. God takes note of our tears. Jesus wept. Jesus was moved by the tears of others. There was a lot of weeping going on in the Bible. But this is my favorite reference to tears. 

“You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book.” Psalms 56:8

Somehow tears remind me God is aware of my heartache and my joy. He’s taking notes. He collects my tears in a bottle.

My tears of joy.

Every breath I take is a gift. Where do I go from here?

I think I will save that musing until next week.