Richard is asleep. He's probably dreaming of playing the 17th Hole at Cypress Point again, while I am feverishly typing to share that I have discovered what my next focus in life is going to be.
It will begin as something primarily for myself.
It will be therapeutic in nature.
It will be painful and joyful at the same time.
It is what I feel called to do right now, my next chapter.
I am going to WRITE.
When I was laying in bed earlier, I started randomly thinking about Abby and Lucas' relationship with each other. How they can fight like cats and dogs one minute, and then ask if they can make a tent and sleep in the playroom the next? As I was pondering them, I began to wonder how my battle with breast cancer must have affected Abby as a toddler. A random smattering of thoughts rolled through, and then I recalled a specific time when she and Conner went to stay with my mother.
Abby was due for her shots - I can't remember which set. One or two of her immunizations were live viruses, and because I was already undergoing chemo we couldn't be around each other for a specified length of time after she received the shots. The thought that Richard had taken Abby and Conner to get her her shots, and that someone had been there waiting to load them both up in the car and drive them 500 miles away to wait out the time, just hit me like a ton of bricks! My precious 18 month old daughter who loved to crawl into bed and take long naps with mommy, was going on a trip so that her mommy could continue my treatments, grow the baby in my belly, and maintain a germ-free environment.
See, that's the funny thing about cancer. When you are fighting it, you miss a LOT of details and events going on around you. You're focused on rest, making sure that you are healthy enough to stay on schedule with your treatments, the calendar LOADED with doctors appointments, and getting even MORE rest. You don't mull things over and over in your mind because, quite frankly, you're in damage control mode. As a result, many things get swept under the rug, you move on, they become insignificant moments....until one night when you're just laying in bed. Thinking.
So I have pulled out my journals, my logs, the scribbled notes, miscellaneous information, and I am going to write. Nothing significant may ever come of my recounting and prose, but it WILL serve as an account on how God's hand has worked mightily and was ever present in our journey.