“What do you want to do today”, I asked of my youngest boy David.
“Play Settlers of Catan, Mom”, he replied excitedly.
The saw hummed outside the bedroom window – our neighbour was building a new deck. The birds chirped in protest of that morning interruption to their conversations.
David was a sleepy boy, content to just be quiet. “What are you writing, Mom?”
“Stacey!” cried Grandma from the kitchen. “Where’s the dog’s leash?”
“I don’t know Grandma – but you never use it. Why do you want it now?” I inquired.
“I heard the dog has to be leashed or the police will get you.”
The music from the carpenter next door joined in on the humming of the saw. What was the station, Rock 95, B101? Hard to tell.
The Saturday morning traffic off the highway set background white noise to all the other sounds of the morning.
“Bang!” The front door closed behind Grandma and the dog.
“Did you sleep well last night, Mom?” David inquired. “And so can we play Settlers?”
“Sure David. Why not?”
It was a kind of morning when anything was possible. It was a lazy kind of morning – one where it was simply okay to just go back to bed.
“So you are still writing these posts even though chemo is done, Mom?”
“Yes – I’m going to write them for a year.”
“Oh. I thought you were going to stop when the chemo was done. All the effects were done.”
And there it was: the invitation to continue. The effects of chemo were not done. They were far from being done.
“By the way, Mom,” David continued out of the blue, “Did you know there was a fourth member who was supposed to escape from Alcatraz? He was going to go with the group – but was late and so didn’t make it.”
Boom! Back into reality – back into the life I love. God bless children. You have no excuse to not engage in life – there is no dwelling on illness, or sadness. You cannot dwell on reflection or self-pity, or self-indulgence. Settlers of Catan and Alcatraz are way more pressing issues. Grin. Chemo may never be done – but life will certainly continue.
I counted my blessings once more.