Resting.
Reviewing the river of my life.
It’s a long stream, sometimes flowing placidly
and sometimes roaring rapidly
through varied landscapes and all kinds of weather!
For three-quarters of a century it has surged on gaining strength and character.
The river runs slower now and its bed is more varied,
but it continues to move forward.
I hold in my self a host of memory stones from the past eight weeks
– each colored by cancer –
to throw or drop or skip across that river
enriching its stream bed with new colors:
-dark gray of fear, personal and borrowed from others
-pitch black of panic when left alone
-warm yellow of competent and compassionate care
-soft white of encouraging words and promises of prayer
-brown of exhaustion and abject fatigue
-green of nausea and vomiting
-burgundy of togetherness and deepening love
-purple of pain, coughing, and anxiety
-more white stones as words of encouragement continued to pour in
-red stones of hope as the cough decreased
-blue of the constant anorexia and revulsion of food
-silver and gold of the constant, compassionate care of my angel caregiver husband.
Amazing!
Memory stones from the sharpest bend in the stream of my life
have beautified the river of my existence!
How can that be?
