The Visit

I wrote this last year...or maybe the year before. I don't remember. Perhaps it is a bit late to be posting it...or perhaps not. I don't know. Enjoy...just a bit of a short story.

She's coming. They've told me so, but I know it anyway. She visits often, and I never quite know what to make of her. She's coming, but it was the first visit that I really remember the most, and so I think I will describe that one. I will describe that one because that was the first time I was really aware of her, the most poignant one. I remember the visit best because I was curious about her, and I was so young. I was nine the first time I remember her, though they told me she had been there many times before.

The year I was nine, she came. The older ones had told me she was coming, and I sat out on our front porch anxiously, and waited. I waited dragging bare dusty feet on the slate cool gray of our painted front porch, and I swung the swing I sat in first one way, and then another, twisting it to change the rhythm, to alleviate my boredom.

"When will she be here?"

"Soon," my mother would say, "Soon she will be here."

So I waited all the afternoon, and sometimes I would go into the house for a snack, and I brought a book out to the porch swing with me. I waited, but she did not come. That night, my mother bundled me into warm soft flannel pajamas after my bath, because she said it would be cold that night.

"Will she be here tomorrow?" I asked.

"Most certainly by tomorrow."

In the morning, my feet hit the cold linoleum bare floor and I ran to the kitchen. I could hear the pop of bacon frying and smell the eggs Mama was scooping on to thick white china plates to set on our oilcloth covered table.

"Is she here?"

Mama nodded, and Pa motioned toward the window with his thumb.

"Got here last night," he said, speaking through a mouthful of biscuit. I never quite understood why it was allowed that he talk through his food, but I had to chew and swallow mine to answer a question. This time I did not care.

I ran to the window, and looked out at a frost covered world glistening in early morning sunlight. It was a magical place, our little yard, the fields beyond the tree sparkling like some fancy cake with an icing even Mama could not make. I could have spent a long time just wondering over that, but I was looking for her. I didn't see a car.

"How did she get here?"

"She got here." Papa answered between bites of biscuit sopping with egg yolk and gravy.

Mama made me dry the dishes while she washed, but first we had to wait til she heated water on the big wood stove in a kettle. I was restless.

"Is she awake?"

"Yes, she'll join you on the porch after we get the kitchen cleaned up."

I watched Mama make the water not quite so hot with another dose of cooler water from the cistern, and I watched her put on her thick yellow rubber gloves. I sighed and took up the dish towel. Not til every last dish was dried and tucked away in the dish safe did Mama tell me I could run put on my sweater and go outside.

I went out calling for her. And she answered. It was just as they told me it would be. Her hair was a rusty auburn and tendrils of it drifted through the trees as she called back to me, her voice almost lost in the breeze. I could see the drifts of curling dried leaves swirling under her feet as she scurried toward me. I could see the russets and scarlets of leaves, green just the day before, swinging perilously on their limbs. As she approached me, her fingers brushed them and made them fall.

"Can I have a hug?" I asked.

"It won't be a warm hug," she answered, smiling.

"I know, but I want to know if it feels like they told me it would."

She smiled, and her cheeks were flushed the same color as the bittersweet that grows on the mountain. She puckered her lips and blew softly. I shivered just a bit, as the wind swirled about my shoulders.

"They were right. It still feels good." And it did, after the hot days of August, the cool soft hug felt good.

That was the first time I was aware of Autumn's visit. Because of that, it was the most poignant visit. But she's coming. She's coming again. Soon.

Spitting at Big C

I actually wrote this a couple of years ago, but since I know people right now going through their own battle with "big c" (I refuse to capitalize him anymore), this is for those folks. Take courage, and know that the prayers of those who care feather your own wings out of his turf.

Once I faced down Big C and spit in his eye. I don't think of him much anymore. I am down to annual checkups, and that is about the only time he crosses my mind. But something happened this week to pitch him back into my line of vision and I got to thinking on that experience.

It has been five years, more actually. And I knew that the potential was there. The leukoplakia under my tongue had been brought to a doctor's attention and I was duly sent to an ear, nose and throat specialist who "kept an eye on it". By holiday season of 2004, I figured it was cancer. I also figured I would stave it off until after the holidays before expecting my family to "deal with it". So...I didn't tell them. I also didn't tell the doc. I got some mouth numbing solution over the counter at the drug store and I tried to stay numb and focus on holiday preparations.

It worked. Painfully, but it worked. And come January I announced to hubby it might be time for me to go get checked out. I did. Biopsy duly taken. A week later I thought I was going to have to comfort Doc who seemed far more upset than I was. After all, I had figured for a couple of months what was going on. He said, "You're taking this better than I would be." Well, how else was there to take it? Of course, I honestly did NOT know that my odds were going to be as slim as they were. I hadn't done my research. So I went home and did it. Not good. Not good at all.

It took three days for the numb to wear off. Meantime word was out. That was probably what jerked me out of denial. The faculty of a school I once worked for sent a hundred dollar donation they had collected to help with expenses. They also sent a HUMONGOUS flower arrangement...an angel no less, swimming in silk flowers. And that is what did it. It was sweet, it was thoughtful, it was touching....and the damned flower arrangement reminded me of a FUNERAL. I hated the damned thing. Would not look at it. Gave it to my mother. And for the first time that night I realized I did not want to die. And for the first and only time, I lay my head on hubby's shoulder and cried rivers.

Why that was the only time that happened I don't know. I should have been in the doldrums for a while. I should have faced "this may be it." I didn't. And I have always believed it had a lot to do with the many around me who were praying. Say what you might about a small town, there is one thing they are very good at, and that is jumping in and being there when there is trouble. I got cards from people and churches I did not know knew my name. I was teaching at the time, and apparently every middle schooler who attended a church had put my name on a prayer list. Suddenly I knew, just knew (and don't ask me how) I was gonna come through this, maybe missing a few parts, maybe deformed, but absolutely going to come through this and live in spite of it.

I made a tape for my husband the night before my first surgery. I honestly had no way of knowing if I would ever be able to speak again. It was possible my entire tongue would be removed. I also went into surgery with FIVE prayer cloths pinned to me. And...I went in laughing.

Somehow, with all those people behind me, sending me cards, letters, calling, I felt like I was wearing invincible armor. And I decided that Big C might indeed take me down, but he wouldn't get the satisfaction of seeing me grovel. So I laughed...a lot. I found the humor in every single bit of the situation...and believe me, if you look for it there are a lot of things to laugh at, even when Big C is standing there staring you down. For some reason it was absolutely hilarious to have tubes running here there and yon down and out every single orifice and to demand they put in some sort of feeding tube that handled caffeine. After all coffee was what I missed most of all!

"Laughing to keep from crying"? Ummm...maybe. But I honestly did have a grand time doing it, and people around me seemed lighter too, once they got over the shock of it. Of course there was one woman I worked with who just got furious with me for it and never did get over it. I wanted to shake the teeth out of her head and say, "Look, damn it! I am the one who has cancer! And if I wanna laugh, can it!" She stayed mad at me. Sigh. The only thing I can figure is I did not give her the satisfaction of seeing me weeping at death's door. Most everyone else started seeing the humor too.

What is the point of this story? I don't know. I really don't. Just got to remembering it. And remembering what got me through: Prayer and faith in God, allowing others to support and encourage me, and a good sense of humor.