Monthly Archives: December 2014

day.eighty.seven.

mom and dad out for a walk.  we got word today that dad’s chemotherapy will begin tonight.  it will be a stronger, more brutal dose. ten times the amount last time, and every twelve hours instead of once a day.  the intent is to annihilate all the evil cells destroying dad’s blood and body. once and for all. leave no one behind. with such intensity though there are risks of side effects. there is risk of  the chemo affecting dad’s brain, leaving him with the inability to walk or talk.  um. what? he could survive the cancer but not be able to enjoy the life given to him? i don’t want my dad to be wheelchair bound never speaking again. i don’t want my dad to hurt, suffer, be in pain. cancer sucks. big time. it has ruined this man’s life. this man who doesn’t deserve it.  please do not let this walk today be his last.

the boy and i fly home tomorrow, so today was my last day here. i hate that thought creeping into my head that it could be the last time i see him.  the last time.  emotions are so hyped right now. fear. sadness. love. pain. joy. nostalgia. anger. i hate it.  i hate the distractions that i force to make happen. that i even need to be distracted. even dad says this is all for the glory of God.  God who is in control of all of this. whose control i need to give in to. let go and let God … right? cancer. i’m now one of those people who will post a meme on facebook about showing my love and support for a loved one battling cancer. let this battle end, soon. let God’s glory be revealed. let people see the hand of God at work. i’d love to see a miracle. i’d love to see the cancer get what it deserves: annihilation. i’d love to see dad live another thirty years sharing a story of his miraculous healing. i’d love to see dad not in a hospital gown. i’d love to see dad not cry because his is afraid. i’d love to see him again, walking and talking. please God, hear our prayers. our pleas. our begging. our cries for mercy. look upon my dad, sitting there in his hospital bed, waiting for the chemo to be given. waiting to see what will happen. pour your mercy over him now. show him your face. reveal to him your unfaltering love and peace.

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day.eighty.six.

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it was a tearful drive to the hospital today.  but the backwoods of north carolina were beautiful.

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day.eighty.five.

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a moment of christmas cheer!

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day.eighty.four.

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my family. dad. sister. brother. mom.  it’s been a long time since we have all been in the same room, together, sans spouses, kids.  in the haunting early hours this morning dad found himself here again: duke university hospital cancer center. turns out the last round of treatment nearly a month ago killed all but a few rogue cells.  these cells decided to go on a revenge spree causing dad’s white blood cell count to rise and rise rapidly. after having a meal home together last night with kids and grandkids, he was feeling like he did last time. he was suspicious of the leukemia returning. and it had. we knew it would come back, but not this soon.  at least it waited until after family dinner. so here he sits. in a different smaller room, but surrounded by the same tender care and brilliance behind the staff of this cancer center.  and there we sat around him. talking about football, long gone family members, home repair dilemmas, who wanted dad’s motorcycle.  and then we prayed. barely getting a word out.  tears streaming down our cheeks. asking God to heal. to comfort. to get dad out of here.  what God does is his perfect will. i know that.  i just don’t know when it will unfold.

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day.eighty.three.

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the boy and i are visiting my parents. mom thought it would be a good idea to take all five grandkids bowling. some bowled for the first time ever. some just sat out and watched. most everyone lost interest after about an hour.  it has been a while since these kids were together though, and that was worth every minute.

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day.eighty.one.

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merry christmas from our fort of loot to yours.

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day.eighty.

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christmas eve. the boy is asleep. the gifts are wrapped. i feel a tinge of guilt in all that i bought him over the past three weeks. i am frustrated that i can’t find one gift i am 99 % certain i bought. but then i feel joy and gratefulness. GOD provided all of this. there was one christmas where we budgeted ourselves $10 each for gifts to each other. and now look at this bounty. these blessings, that i hope our son can realize Who provided these gifts.  yes, christmas is about a baby laying in a manger. but it is also about hope, love, peace, which only that baby could have provided.  i enjoyed the throbbing masses, the long lines, the punchy people, the bargain hunting. it meant i could bless my family. it means our family can now bless others.  i hope tomorrow morning we feel jesus in a new way, in an exciting fresh way, kind of like unwrapping a gift.

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day.seventy.eight.

it

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merry almost christmas. our tiny family went to strawberry banke (in portsmouth, nh) to do the christmasy thing and tour their village at night. apparently thousands of other people had the same idea.  good thing the cold air motivated us to keep moving and find warmth in the centuries old houses. stepping back in time amidst the lights and ice skaters and throngs of people was magical, in a way.

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day.seventy.four.

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oh, you evil thing. every year, it is “can we build a gingerbread house?”  whose idea was this, to bring this bane of existence into households everywhere.  here i am struggling to shove the icing into a piping bag, keep the decorator tip on (i now realize i probably should have had the tip inside the bag), while keeping the bag from untwisting, while keeping enough pressure to have the icing ooze out. and ooze out it did.  everywhere but through the tip.  the boy literally doing jumping jacks next to me with anticipation of decorating the house.  candy is everywhere, icing drying faster than you can say “uncle” and the walls are not quite to code.  nonetheless, we have mild success.  the boy goes to work decorating. “beading” the window, placing the door knob on just so, decking the roofline with several chimney stacks, and a honking huge “mistletoe” on the roof. he loved it. talking about how delicious it would taste christmas morning. in one week.  i don’t think so, kid.  after a final building inspection, the mini cottage looked good. picturesque enough for the page of a fairy tale book. and then … it falls apart.  they all fall apart. ugh.  the defeated look on both our faces as we look upon a pile of rubble.  the boy begging me to put it back together.  i do some patch work, and so far….so good.  just don’t breath on it.

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day.seventy.two.

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it’s christmas concert time. there’s our star, the blonde, front and center.  he had a speaking part and everything…which he rushed through.  love.

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