I had my second dose of chemotherapy yesterday. It’s really not so bad. The people at the hospital talk all kinds of baby talk to me. Even though it’s a little silly, since I feel so great, I still flip over onto my back and give them my best relaxation pose.
While we were at the vet, I heard her tell my Mom that she was 95% positive about the osteosarcoma diagnosis. About now, we’re all wondering if my leg was chopped off for nothing, but my Mom says that what’s done is done, and now we are going to stay positive, keep the faith, and go about trying to save my life. I sure am glad to hear that, and it reminds me of this saying she told me once…”You have to accept whatever comes and the only important thing is that you meet it with courage and with the best that you have to give.” Eleanor Roosevelt.
Of course after chemo, we jumped in the truck and headed back to the cabin to continue our Summer of Lincoln. The life jacket is back out, and I’m a little suspicious, but I have a lot of faith in my ability to communicate with my Mom through telepathy, and I’m sure I can convince her that I really don’t need it. Sometimes if I think a thought hard enough, she seems to understand. I’m not sure how, but it works more often than not.
If I’m being honest, we seem to be on the same wavelength a lot of the time. It’s almost like we share the same thoughts somehow. Let me give you an example; a couple of weeks ago we were here at the cabin, and the sun was out, but the wind was really blowing. My Mom was drinking her morning coffee, looking out the big window toward the lake.
Funny thing is, so was I (the looking, not the drinking). I think we were both wishing that the wind would die down so I could go swimming, but then this bird caught my attention. It was a swallow, and it was just floating in the same place. It didn’t so much as flutter its wings, but it had figured out the wind somehow, and was managing to stay in the exact same position, hovering just above our deck. It was like something I’ve never seen ever before. I really don’t know how to explain it, except to say that it seemed like a sort of miracle. You almost know that nobody would ever believe if you tried to tell them.
It was one of the things that you are almost afraid to talk about, because you don’t want it to seem less spectacular in description than it was in real life. One of those things whose beauty and wonder is multiplied, and not diluted, if you are lucky enough to share the experience with somebody. I swear, I watched that bird for about five minutes and it never moved a muscle yet it stayed exactly in the same place. Suddenly, it occurred to me that my Mom would really love this, and I looked over at her to try to get her attention, and I realized that she was already watching the show.
I truly think that she noticed the bird because I was concentrating so hard on it and made her see it. Right about then she looked at me, right in the eye, and we both knew that we had just witnessed something only for us. This is one of the many ways I give my Mom hope. This is how I make her believe. It’s in the small things. The little miracles that are only there if you pay close attention. I’m here to make sure she sees them, and I’m so glad that she does. Before I came along, I’m not sure she slowed down enough to enjoy anything, so it’s extra important I do my job well so she’ll remembers the lessons even after I’m gone. I try to take my job very seriously, because I know that my Mom really has A LOT to learn.
