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I have learned so many different things in so many different categories from my mother, when it comes to how to live a good life. One of the things that I decided to wait for was to see how she would share the latest news about my dad's health on social media. She likes to accompany her stories with a photo, whether they are stories about wonderful visits with her grandkids, or difficult stories about grief and loss. I am grateful that she speaks up because she is a centering voice for our family.

So, the news, which we are all still digesting. When we learned that my dad's 6-month CT scan results prompted a follow-up MRI of his liver, I had to turn over this course of events in my mind. As much as I hoped the CT scan had raised a false alarm, some cynical part of myself thought, "At this stage they are probably using the MRI for confirmatory information." Two of the three places appear to be tumors, while the last appears to be a scar from liver surgery.

Now, the cascade of thoughts. We have been here before, and this now-familiar territory is filled with a different sense of unease. The first time through, I could make a joke about "semi-colon surgery," not yet knowing of the depths of sickness that would occur at the end of the first round of chemotherapy. Even in those depths, I could come up with a plan for something whimsical and ridiculous and impossible to look forward to at the end of the second round of chemotherapy.

The thing we are confronted with here is simply that the road ahead is unknown, and unpredictable. I can remember so vividly the experience of the unfolding of my dad's early diagnosis, and how plans for that liver surgery had to change, as much as we all just wanted everything to be over with so we could move on to other things.

For some reason, my photo to go with the words is simply of this little patch of grass in Nebraska that I ride past every day on my way to work. Sometimes things happen, and we don't quite know the metaphor or life lesson or meaning, and that's okay.

Nebraska grasses

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( 3 remarks — Remark )
bluepapercup
Nov. 20th, 2015 02:21 pm (UTC)
Grass doesn't know nor care about the ebb and flow of our human lives, it just grows, dies, grows again, and does its life-seeking grass thing. A perfect photo for this entry, I think.

Hugs from afar, and may the grass be always beautiful to you.
rebeccmeister
Nov. 21st, 2015 03:37 am (UTC)

Thank you my dear. I am so, so grateful to you for simply being a witness to things. Hugs to you as well, my friend!

pigshitpoet
Nov. 21st, 2015 08:01 am (UTC)
well, you can journal it, for posterity, or just live it!

; )
( 3 remarks — Remark )

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