still more

How do you find a way to write a post that accurately sketches the deep sadness, the fear, the anger, the worry, the grief?  How to write it in a way that helps you understand, while still showing you the light on the water and the fire in our hearts?

So there is more.  More cancer and more healing.  I know you "can't imagine" and I understand that.  You don't have to tell me.  There was a time when I couldn't imagine either.  Instead stay nearby.  Just be there so I'll know you can help hold us, if we should need it.  This is our path, it is long.  I guess I share it with you now because it's my habit, because this blog was meant to mark our days, our happiness, and, though I couldn't have imagined it then, our sadness too.  Because writing helps me heal.

What do we do with news like this?  First of all we bumble.  We pack the kids in the car and head out for the day, to a state park, to the river, to anywhere that is not stagnant.  We move in a fog and the memories of those first few days are like a dream, muddled, fuzzy and with an edge that reminds you of something bad.  We plop the kids in places where they can entertain themselves, a beach, the river... and then long silences stretch between us as our exhausted minds just chew and chew and chew.

And then a few days later we cry.  A lot. 

And then we arrive at now.  Kids get driven to camp and lessons, I go to work.  We start answering the phone again.  I walk with a friend.  We emerge from sadness even though it felt like we wouldn't. We get back to working on gratitude and meditation and watching the blessings filter into each day. Hope and resilience returns, still mixed with sadness, but also with relief.  We've found our inner strength, again.

And we hold them, and each other with more awareness and more love then ever before.  Still more.