I ran through supplies on hand in my mind - seeds, potting soil for starter plants, gloves, rubber boots. Stop.
I have two pairs of rubber boots, both well used. My black pair with dragonflies and pink ribbons remind me of the day I texted Aunt Suzie to show her what I had just ordered. A few days later, I got a text from her of these high heel pink rubber boots with pink ribbons that she had ordered from the same website. After she went Home, I asked for only a few things from my cousins, her boots included.
If you knew Aunt Suzie or followed her social media updates, you knew she always began tough posts with - "Well, my friends, it's time to put my boots on again and venture on another hike..." Her literary imagery was the embodiment of how she lived her everyday life. When it came to cancer, to nerve damage, to the pain those things brought, she would make her way up the steep slopes of the mountain placed in front of her without complaint, without woe is me, without the anxiety a lack of knowledge about what the future would hold could bring. Did she ever need encouragement? Duh. Yes! That's where our shared infinity for glitter being like God's goodness was born from.
But those boots. I can still see her beaming from ear to ear about high heel rubber boots. I giggle at the impracticality of heels on rubber boots but smile at the physical representation of who she was.
This year began pretty rough for us. A covid diagnosis on Jan 3 meant two weeks of quarantine for us all. Family "Christmas" would once again be moved as nearly all of the cousins tested positive starting the week before Christmas until our diagnosis at the end. We had only seen each other at Aunt Tracy's funeral. Another aunt lost to stage 4 breast cancer. It felt like a nightmare we couldn't escape.
So when I found it, a strawberry sized lump, while Brian was on his 10th day of quarantine, I just couldn't say anything. I froze, literally, for 36 hours. At first I tried to reason it away as someone who has a history of cysts and had been down this road before but this time, this time it was different. The size, the texture, the shape, the lack of pain.
After those initial 36hrs, I only told momma. Even then I begged her to give me two weeks to see if it would resolve on its own but she knew the difference in all the symptoms just like I did. I, reluctantly, made an appointment for a week later.
But still, I told no one. How could I? My best friend literally lived this nightmare not even a year ago. How could I drudge up emotions and feelings that were so freshly under the surface? Then there was my family. The greatest source of my encouragement and earthly strength. They could not know. I could not even breathe when I would think about having to tell them what might be. My husband, my kids, my brothers and sister (in law), my cousins, grandmother, aunt and uncles. No way would anyone be hurt by anything that was going on with me. Thankfully, the excitement of finally all being together at "Shrimp Christmas", all now covid free, didn't allow for any quiet time together. I was in the clear now to wait.
Still, those boots. Sitting by my backdoor, the irony of their possession was not lost in those moments. The last time I went through this, she had been the voice on the other end of the phone. She had been the one walking me through procedures and testing to come. She was the one I called back immediately when I walked out of the Women's Center that last time to say, "Everything is good!" Now, she wasn't here. Her silence was deafening this time. Those boots that had walked up so many mountains were now laying at my backdoor.
God, in His infinite wisdom, gave me a best friend to walk with this time. Procedures and tests re-explained. Tears shared and reminders of one day at a time were daily, sometimes hourly, occurrences. She knew I didn't want to tell my family, she truly understood why.
After three long weeks, the nightmare would be put in our 2021 rearview mirror. Many tenuous talks with doctors later would reveal what we had all been praying for - no cancer. Everything else could be dealt with later.
Those boots. Those high heel, wonderfully worn, half a size too small for me boots. Not only had she figuratively climbed mountains in those boots but she harvested real vegetables in those boots. Vegetables that had grown from seeds and plants she had planted. Plants she had cared for, watered, pruned, fertilized but plants God did all the growing for.
When I found the adenoma, I didn't water the seeds of fear. I vividly remember not being afraid, maybe it was shock, but just being determined. "Gotta do whatcha gotta do..." - I'm not sure how many times I said that to myself, to Brian, to Toni.
The most amazing thing to me in all of this though is the continuing faithfulness of God to grow His peace and His comfort, His strength and His provision in and for me. I talked the whole way through the biopsy, oblivious that the procedure had already begun. Momma laughed, she said Aunt Suzie did too.
I was prepared to put those boots on and hike whatever mountain God put in front of me. But I didn't have to this time. Instead, I'll slip them on next week as we plant our garden. Then, we'll again watch Him produce fruits in total amazement of His unconditional, unwavering love for us.
Pic: Pickles from the day I got to hang out with momma, Aunt Suzie and Aunt Birdie learning, chatting and laughing. ❤
No comments:
Post a Comment