days 83 & 84

Today was honestly the day it all hit me: tomorrow will be my last day of treatment.

I cried for the first time this week, tears I knew that were there in the dam of my soul but I was unwilling to let them simply go until today.

And yes, that sounds silly, because shouldn’t I be happy? rejoicing? excited? And truly, trust me, I am, deep in my soul excited but there is also this time period of uncertainity that is also somewhere deep in my soul, that is coming up more prevelant than the first emotions listed.

This is a hard transition, a lot harder than you would actually think.

Yes, no more chemo-poison transforming me before my very eyes from Jekyll to Hyde or anxiety pre-meds heightning my already-anxious thoughts and tendencies.

But this past year—these chemo cycles, these staff members—are unique to my life, to this past year.

I can’t look back on my 23rd year and not see them, recognize for me and my family what they have done for me. To forget would be a disgrace, an erase of a year.

Oh no, this can not be so.

If I could place all the memories in a time capsule and bury them all, I would. But you see, memories and people don’t belong in time capsules. Although I might try to bury the thoughts, the year deep somewhere out in the fields, my brain can still see the people, see the images, remember the thoughts, feel the post-morning-chemo-week drain.

I suppose it will get better with time, time. But right now, all I see is the capsule and the shovel of my mind and can easily and quickly find for you where I plan to bury it and unearth it and re-bury it again.

I want to place the time capsule away, return to it every few years, but for now it stays.
And I want to take the same shovel-tool that is burying the capsule to plant fresh, new shoots and seeds for the future.

I’m instead in-between both the past and the present on this soil-field of my heart.
Looking backward, remembering.
Looking forward, hoping for not quite too sure yet.

And yet, there is rest somewhere between past and future. Rest against this tree here between past and present, but I also don’t want to quite yet. My heart yearns for productivity, for significance through productivity (even if it happens to be burying and unearthing and burying again this chemo-time-capsule in my hands.) Can’t you rest mind? Can’t you let your body just rest?

I long to go back to the days where I would just sit underneath my parents’ maple tree and just read and dwell.
I long to go back to the days where I would let myself just be under the shade of Highbanks trees and wind and breeze.

Maybe I am being brought back there, to those places now, those places of rest that I have seemingly forgotten.

Here is the time of tree-trusting, of sitting back underneath their shades and waiting, listening, being patient for the Ultimate Planner once more as I have pen and notebook in hand, and yes, I am still waiting for answers.

But sometimes the answer is to just rest and wait.

I hate that answer, and yet it also brings even more joy to the breeze I feel as I sit underneath this tree, against this tree-trusting-trunk.

Help me please to enjoy and be in this moment of restful-waiting until You see it so.
Oh, how I know my heart and mind need it, but I want to deflect, re-direct, put back this shovel into my hand for some “good use.”

And yet, here as I sit and surrender-rest, where else could I possibly be more humble, more serving, more at ease, more at peace than underneath this period of time-shade You have provided for me?

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