Breathe on her, breath of God. Then she will be restored. My daughter is ill. Very ill. Despite a complete colectomy last year, her Crohn's Disease remains sever and active. This month alone has entailed two hospitalizations, one for a fistular abscess, and the other to insert a PICC line. Now after nearly two weeks of daily antibiotic infusions, two previous incisions have spontaneously opened. One wound is nearly three cm deep. Now, in addition to each infusion, she must have these wounds dressed. She has little appetite but forces herself to eat until a Crohn's cramp emerges and stifles everything She is again looking like the anorexic refugee that she did when she was first diagnosed at the age of 11.
This back story is important to understand our pain and frustration and fear. To see your child in a hospital bed is devastating. To see the hope of each new treatment and the disappointment of each failure is agonizing. To see dark circles under once vibrant eyes is debilitating. To hear her each morning answer my, "How are you doing, Sweetie?" with, "I'm okay," astounds me. She is the strongest and courageous person I know.
Last night as I hoped my exhaustion would bring quick and peaceful sleep, I opened my Bible for inspiration and guidance and hope. The previous night I had asked God to heal her and would do whatever he ask of me. So, last night I thought I'd better start looking for signs of what he wanted from me. My Bible opened to Psalm 104:30: "but when thou breathest into them, they recover; thou givest new life to the earth." God was telling me he would heal my child. Now, I needed a sign of what God was asking of me in return. As I finished this psalm, I continued to the next for my answer. "Give the Lord thanks and invoke him by name, make his deeds known in the world around. Pay him honour with song and psalm and think upon all his wonders." (Psalm 105: 1-2). I must tell my story because my story is God's story. His loving breath restores us.
Writing about God's love here in this blog is a start, but I think I'm going to have to do more. I must write my story, and I must speak about it to whomever will listen. I must do what I have avoided for years. I must publicly profess my love for God, and acknowledge all He has done as my Lord and Savior. I'm not much on witnessing to others, or offering my testimony publicly. I've always believed that a person's faith is personal, and to flaunt it before others would be ostentatious. But I've also been afraid that I would be ridiculed for professing my beliefs. Declaring one's faith has never been a popular action in my circle of friends.
I've been thinking about Jonah and his refusal to go to Nineveh to denounce their wickedness toward God. Jonah fled, and as we all know ended up in the belly of a fish until he was ready to carry out God's will. I had hand-written this blog entry three days ago, promising to post it, yet avoiding doing so for reasons stated above. My daughter had her first dose of the new medication yesterday, but her cramping is worse than ever. Did I wait too long to hold-up my end of the bargain? She was feeling better as God had promised so I really didn't need to go through with this, right? I'm a fool. A selfish fool. This has never been about me. I'm merely a messenger, and I have to let others know that there is a power greater than us. Whether you call it God or Allah, I believe the higher power watches over and guides us all: Jews, Muslims, Buddhists, Christians, Zoroastrians, etc., etc., etc. That power saved my life several times, and I refused to tell its story. Now my daughter is in great pain and suffering, and I must tell the story, our story: The Breath of God.
Thursday, August 7, 2014
Thursday, July 12, 2012
The Sign of Jonas
I volunteered at the public library this morning, helping little kids make crafts as part of the summer reading program. While I waited for them to arrive, I looked through the 100+ books the library is giving away. The only book that I actually picked up to thumb through was a book title I couldn't read. When I opened the cover, the title read, The Sign of Jonas by Thomas Merton. This had to be el segneo de deo, especially since I again asked for a sign in my prayers and meditations last night. The gods have been a little quiet on the signage front for the last several days so I thought I'd put in another request.
I had no idea what the sign of Jonas was all about, and I had no clue that Jonas referred to Jonah....you know the one in the famous fish story. Researching more about this sign led me to Matthew 12:39, "He (Jesus) answered, 'A wicked and adulterous generation asks for a miraculous sign! But none will be given it except the sign of the prophet Jonah.'" Supposedly Jesus was getting pissed at the people for always asking for signs that he was the Son of God. On this particular day the only thing He gave them was to say,"...the Son of Man will be three days and three nights in the heart of the earth" (Matthew 12:40). No signs. No miracles. Just a prophecy.
There are three ways I could interpret finding this book as a sign:
My first thought is that the Cosmos is telling me to stop being so demanding, expecting a daily sign just so I can blog about it. My second thought dealt w/ the content of Merton's book, which is a journal covering his monastery years (1946-1952) prior to taking his priesthood vows. Maybe the sign was for me to live a more monastic life. My final thought was about Jonah himself. He was running away from God's command to preach to the people of Nineveh, and as punishment was swallowed by a fish. It wasn't until three days later when he repented that the fish puked him out. I've been doing this last one, repenting, for the last eight years, which is why I'm asking for signs of what I'm supposed to do w/ my life. The second one, becoming a monk, is impossible since I have two teenage daughters who are mostly dependent upon me. Can women even become monks? That leaves my first thought. Always go w/ your first answer. In this case, I'm a wicked, adulterous woman asking for a sign. And even though I can't become a monk or a priest, I can be more appreciative of my summertime solace to find union w/ a higher power. Conclusion: I won't be grasping for daily signs so my blog entries will only come when the Spirit moves me!!
I had no idea what the sign of Jonas was all about, and I had no clue that Jonas referred to Jonah....you know the one in the famous fish story. Researching more about this sign led me to Matthew 12:39, "He (Jesus) answered, 'A wicked and adulterous generation asks for a miraculous sign! But none will be given it except the sign of the prophet Jonah.'" Supposedly Jesus was getting pissed at the people for always asking for signs that he was the Son of God. On this particular day the only thing He gave them was to say,"...the Son of Man will be three days and three nights in the heart of the earth" (Matthew 12:40). No signs. No miracles. Just a prophecy.
There are three ways I could interpret finding this book as a sign:
My first thought is that the Cosmos is telling me to stop being so demanding, expecting a daily sign just so I can blog about it. My second thought dealt w/ the content of Merton's book, which is a journal covering his monastery years (1946-1952) prior to taking his priesthood vows. Maybe the sign was for me to live a more monastic life. My final thought was about Jonah himself. He was running away from God's command to preach to the people of Nineveh, and as punishment was swallowed by a fish. It wasn't until three days later when he repented that the fish puked him out. I've been doing this last one, repenting, for the last eight years, which is why I'm asking for signs of what I'm supposed to do w/ my life. The second one, becoming a monk, is impossible since I have two teenage daughters who are mostly dependent upon me. Can women even become monks? That leaves my first thought. Always go w/ your first answer. In this case, I'm a wicked, adulterous woman asking for a sign. And even though I can't become a monk or a priest, I can be more appreciative of my summertime solace to find union w/ a higher power. Conclusion: I won't be grasping for daily signs so my blog entries will only come when the Spirit moves me!!
Friday, July 6, 2012
Location, Location, Location
I often have certain lines from songs looping through my head. It's like playing the 45, and the needle gets stuck. This morning I awoke with a line from Tesla's "Signs" stuck in my head: "Signs, signs, everywhere there's signs. Blockin' out the scenery, breakin' my mind. Do this, don't do that, can't you read the signs?" I don't think this so much a segno de Deo as it is that I've been thinking a lot about signs. This then forces the question of whether what I'm interpreting as signs are really just manifestations of my subconscious. Then it must follow that if God is within us, the signs are within us, looking for an outlet for observation.
Something that appeared on my phone yesterday has to be a sign because I don't know enough about the inner workings of my Smartphone to manipulate or manifest a sign. A partial screen has appeared that says, "Unknown Location" and my gmail account is in the lower left corner. In the upper right corner is a refresh icon and a check mark. When I double click the check mark, I get a map showing Prior Lake, MN. The only person I know from there is someone I once had something with, but neither of us wanted to define what the something was. Now he's defining something with someone else, and I'm looking for signs.
The screen that says my location is unknown is pretty straightforward. I don't have a fucking clue where I'm at with my life. Earlier this spring, I was a little depressed because it seemed like everyone around me was moving: to new jobs, new cities, new homes. In six weeks my older daughter will be moving away to college. Everyone's moving, and I'm in an unknown location. I'm not much for uncertainty and spontaneity....not a good personality type for a cancer patient........or maybe it's the perfect type. Anyway, I'm a planner, an organizer, a stager. Yes, these all feed into my control issues. My life has always had a plan, yet when my younger daughter graduates from high school in two years, I have no idea where I'll be, or even where I want to be. I want to be the kind of person who finds that thrilling.
As to the Prior Lake location, it's no longer showing up when I click on the check mark. Now the map shows Mankato and Austin. Guess that's a sign I'm supposed to be moving on. God knows he has.
Something that appeared on my phone yesterday has to be a sign because I don't know enough about the inner workings of my Smartphone to manipulate or manifest a sign. A partial screen has appeared that says, "Unknown Location" and my gmail account is in the lower left corner. In the upper right corner is a refresh icon and a check mark. When I double click the check mark, I get a map showing Prior Lake, MN. The only person I know from there is someone I once had something with, but neither of us wanted to define what the something was. Now he's defining something with someone else, and I'm looking for signs.
The screen that says my location is unknown is pretty straightforward. I don't have a fucking clue where I'm at with my life. Earlier this spring, I was a little depressed because it seemed like everyone around me was moving: to new jobs, new cities, new homes. In six weeks my older daughter will be moving away to college. Everyone's moving, and I'm in an unknown location. I'm not much for uncertainty and spontaneity....not a good personality type for a cancer patient........or maybe it's the perfect type. Anyway, I'm a planner, an organizer, a stager. Yes, these all feed into my control issues. My life has always had a plan, yet when my younger daughter graduates from high school in two years, I have no idea where I'll be, or even where I want to be. I want to be the kind of person who finds that thrilling.
As to the Prior Lake location, it's no longer showing up when I click on the check mark. Now the map shows Mankato and Austin. Guess that's a sign I'm supposed to be moving on. God knows he has.
Thursday, July 5, 2012
Is that a challenge?
You can't demand a sign. And you sure as hell can't command the gods to provide a sign in a predetermined format.
I set off yesterday challenging the gods to a duel. I must've still been in that mindset from the previous day. My plan: stop at any bar I encounter; stay long enough for one drink; and if no man approachs me, head to the next watering hole. The objective: this would be the sign that Mr. Right is just around the corner. Sounded like a good plan at the time, plus it was really hot yesterday, and beer sounded good. I gave the universe three chances. Three isn't just a random number. It's my lucky number. My birthday is March 3rd......3/3......chance, I don't think so. Maybe that's why I'm rushing this relationship thing because I know after two divorces, this third one has to be IT. Three was there for me when I was undergoing tests eight years ago. Every changing room or locker or examination room had the number 3 in it. Even my Mayo Clinic number contains only derivatives of three. A coincidence, I don't think so. Numbers are signs so I demanded my sign be revealed to me by the third bar.
Bar #1: The Barefoot Bar adorns the shores of East Okoboji. I ordered a Corona at the bar, listened to a duo perform 70's soft rock, and waited. I got stared at by two older men, both of whom were with other women. Assholes. I left.
Bar #2 (well, not really): I hadn't been in Tweeter's since the fire so it was my next stop. I ordered a gin and tonic and some onion rings. The bartender was a former student. Another former-student-turned-waitress struggled to place my face. That's rich. I've had thousands of students, and she struggled to recognize her one communication instructor? I'm not counting this as a bar because I just ate and drank as fast as I could to avoid these students. When you're hunting man signs, you don't want to be recognized.
Bar #2 (this one counts): The Ritz also sits on the shores of East Okoboji. Don't let the name fool you. It's glamor resides in 1980's drab. I ordered a Corona, sat at the bar, and observed the mating rituals of the young. The Alpha Male sits looking at his phone, apparently bored with the feeble attempts of the herd to ply him with witty anecdotes. A girl sitting to his left, hoping to be his Alpha Female, flips her hair and smiles a lot. Another contender stands behind him, oblivious to the attempts and attentions of another male. Is this what I'm looking for? I put up the gauntlet. I demanded a sign in a bar. Could the sign be that I'm to old and jaded for this scene? I had to be sure. Another student stopped to chat. I left.
Bar #3: Captain Jack's literally floats on West Okoboji. This would be the one. My lucky #3. No room at the bar so I ordered a gin and tonic and a bottle of water and sat at a table. Gotta keep hydrated in the triple-digit temps. That, and I needed to slow down. I was feeling a little tipsy at the point when you can go either way: happy or pissy. I was headed down pissy street once the same guy ran into the back of my head twice, and another guy blocked the fan that was keeping the heat at bay. The fan blocker then sat two tables away and stared. A man with his back to me at the next table kept turning around toward me. Apparently the sign is that Midwestern men don't know the first damn thing about how to talk to a woman. Their idea of flirting involves staring and accidental and annoying touch. There was no more hiding it. The "Fuck Off" stamp was a blazing neon sign on my forehead. Disappointment. The gods had forsaken me. I left to sulk and sober.
My refuge, my solace, my muse has always been nature. I have an especially beautiful spot that is hidden to tourists yet provides a panoramic view of West Lake. Sitting on the rocks, dangling my feet in the cool, albeit slightly mossy, water, I contemplated what had gone wrong. I had made my desire for a sign very clear. Had God found me pretentious and demanding? Were pretentious and demanding people not worthy of signs? Had I received a sign but not willing to accept it? Those bars had nothing to offer me. The signs were there: stop demanding signs and stop looking for signs where they don't exist. Well, maybe just one more unprententious request: If he's out there, let him find me tucked away in my hiding place. I relaxed. God wouldn't slam me twice. And once I relaxed, I saw it.....the breathing rock. It was pulsating with the rhythm of the waves. As each wave rolled over it, the algae atop it lifted and billowed. That was the sign: the breath of the gods were swelling me. With renewed hope, I climbed out of my hiding place and belched out all that lovely new air. And then I saw him, standing on the precipice above me. God had sent someone to pull me out of my hiding place. But wait. Had he heard my burp? I couldn't take the chance. He said, "Hi." I said, "Hello," and just kept walking.
I set off yesterday challenging the gods to a duel. I must've still been in that mindset from the previous day. My plan: stop at any bar I encounter; stay long enough for one drink; and if no man approachs me, head to the next watering hole. The objective: this would be the sign that Mr. Right is just around the corner. Sounded like a good plan at the time, plus it was really hot yesterday, and beer sounded good. I gave the universe three chances. Three isn't just a random number. It's my lucky number. My birthday is March 3rd......3/3......chance, I don't think so. Maybe that's why I'm rushing this relationship thing because I know after two divorces, this third one has to be IT. Three was there for me when I was undergoing tests eight years ago. Every changing room or locker or examination room had the number 3 in it. Even my Mayo Clinic number contains only derivatives of three. A coincidence, I don't think so. Numbers are signs so I demanded my sign be revealed to me by the third bar.
Bar #1: The Barefoot Bar adorns the shores of East Okoboji. I ordered a Corona at the bar, listened to a duo perform 70's soft rock, and waited. I got stared at by two older men, both of whom were with other women. Assholes. I left.
Bar #2 (well, not really): I hadn't been in Tweeter's since the fire so it was my next stop. I ordered a gin and tonic and some onion rings. The bartender was a former student. Another former-student-turned-waitress struggled to place my face. That's rich. I've had thousands of students, and she struggled to recognize her one communication instructor? I'm not counting this as a bar because I just ate and drank as fast as I could to avoid these students. When you're hunting man signs, you don't want to be recognized.
Bar #2 (this one counts): The Ritz also sits on the shores of East Okoboji. Don't let the name fool you. It's glamor resides in 1980's drab. I ordered a Corona, sat at the bar, and observed the mating rituals of the young. The Alpha Male sits looking at his phone, apparently bored with the feeble attempts of the herd to ply him with witty anecdotes. A girl sitting to his left, hoping to be his Alpha Female, flips her hair and smiles a lot. Another contender stands behind him, oblivious to the attempts and attentions of another male. Is this what I'm looking for? I put up the gauntlet. I demanded a sign in a bar. Could the sign be that I'm to old and jaded for this scene? I had to be sure. Another student stopped to chat. I left.
Bar #3: Captain Jack's literally floats on West Okoboji. This would be the one. My lucky #3. No room at the bar so I ordered a gin and tonic and a bottle of water and sat at a table. Gotta keep hydrated in the triple-digit temps. That, and I needed to slow down. I was feeling a little tipsy at the point when you can go either way: happy or pissy. I was headed down pissy street once the same guy ran into the back of my head twice, and another guy blocked the fan that was keeping the heat at bay. The fan blocker then sat two tables away and stared. A man with his back to me at the next table kept turning around toward me. Apparently the sign is that Midwestern men don't know the first damn thing about how to talk to a woman. Their idea of flirting involves staring and accidental and annoying touch. There was no more hiding it. The "Fuck Off" stamp was a blazing neon sign on my forehead. Disappointment. The gods had forsaken me. I left to sulk and sober.
My refuge, my solace, my muse has always been nature. I have an especially beautiful spot that is hidden to tourists yet provides a panoramic view of West Lake. Sitting on the rocks, dangling my feet in the cool, albeit slightly mossy, water, I contemplated what had gone wrong. I had made my desire for a sign very clear. Had God found me pretentious and demanding? Were pretentious and demanding people not worthy of signs? Had I received a sign but not willing to accept it? Those bars had nothing to offer me. The signs were there: stop demanding signs and stop looking for signs where they don't exist. Well, maybe just one more unprententious request: If he's out there, let him find me tucked away in my hiding place. I relaxed. God wouldn't slam me twice. And once I relaxed, I saw it.....the breathing rock. It was pulsating with the rhythm of the waves. As each wave rolled over it, the algae atop it lifted and billowed. That was the sign: the breath of the gods were swelling me. With renewed hope, I climbed out of my hiding place and belched out all that lovely new air. And then I saw him, standing on the precipice above me. God had sent someone to pull me out of my hiding place. But wait. Had he heard my burp? I couldn't take the chance. He said, "Hi." I said, "Hello," and just kept walking.
Wednesday, July 4, 2012
Dueling Signs
Sometimes I look for signs in songs, thinking that whatever the lyrics say will happen in my life. Even after my cancer diagnosis when every song on the radio seemed to contain a reference to death, I believed God was sending me a message via my FM dial. Don McLean's American Pie became very eery as I bellowed every chorus, "This'll be the day that I die," and Billy Joel's Only the Good Die Young was obviously written exclusively for me, despite being released 34 years prior to my diagnosis. Are we predisposed to certain words when we're seeking a specific sign? Will this cancer kill me? The answer, my friend, has got to be "blowin' in the wind" of a song.
Driving home from the grocery store this morning, I was listening to an Oldies station. I'm not a musical genre snob. I like them all. Well, except for rap..... and country.......and crossover pop that can't decide which camp it wants to be in. Other than that, I'll listen to anything with a good beat that's easy to dance to......provided it has soulful lyrics........with kickass harmonies. So I'm listening to this funk song when the line, "Can't get close to you, girl" blares through. This has to be the sign. I've become too closed off. Most men find me intimidating, but apparently now ALL men do. Just as I'm about to declare this el segno de deo, the radio station gets cut into by a country station, and I hear, "We're having such a good time together." While the two stations are vying for supremacy, I realize that this is my sign, and by that I mean my astrological sign: Pisces. The Piscean sign, with its two fish swimming in opposite directions, was exactly the dichotomy of my radio station duel. And by that I mean, the duality duel of my relationships, past, present, and probably future. I get close to a guy so that "we're having such a good time together." Then I realize he's gotten so close that I might actually need him, and he "can't get close to (me), girl."
So, children, what lessons have we learned from today's sign? First, I cannot foretell my future through a playlist. Second, I need a new car antenna. And, third, I need to be the fun fish and NOT the flapping, floundering fish with control issues.
Driving home from the grocery store this morning, I was listening to an Oldies station. I'm not a musical genre snob. I like them all. Well, except for rap..... and country.......and crossover pop that can't decide which camp it wants to be in. Other than that, I'll listen to anything with a good beat that's easy to dance to......provided it has soulful lyrics........with kickass harmonies. So I'm listening to this funk song when the line, "Can't get close to you, girl" blares through. This has to be the sign. I've become too closed off. Most men find me intimidating, but apparently now ALL men do. Just as I'm about to declare this el segno de deo, the radio station gets cut into by a country station, and I hear, "We're having such a good time together." While the two stations are vying for supremacy, I realize that this is my sign, and by that I mean my astrological sign: Pisces. The Piscean sign, with its two fish swimming in opposite directions, was exactly the dichotomy of my radio station duel. And by that I mean, the duality duel of my relationships, past, present, and probably future. I get close to a guy so that "we're having such a good time together." Then I realize he's gotten so close that I might actually need him, and he "can't get close to (me), girl."
So, children, what lessons have we learned from today's sign? First, I cannot foretell my future through a playlist. Second, I need a new car antenna. And, third, I need to be the fun fish and NOT the flapping, floundering fish with control issues.
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
Buying a Villa
One of my favorite parts from one of my favorite movies, Under the Tuscan Sun, is when Frances is trying to buy the villa in Tuscany, but the owner needs a sign from God (el Segno de Deo). Frances says she too believes in signs and gets shit on by a pigeon, which, as luck would have it, is a good sign in Italy.
During my meditation and prayers last night, I asked God to send me a sign to let me know I'm headed in the right direction, down the path She has chosen for me. I've asked for signs before. You know, the kind where you let the Bible open to a certain page and then assume the words contained on that page will somehow translate into a meaningful sign in your life. Well, I did that too. I ended up somewhere in Ezekial with kingdoms being destroyed on the first day of the twelfth month in the twelfth year. Great. The end of the world is coming exactly five months from the day I asked for a sign. Good to know. I'd better pay attention.
I'm on summer break from my teaching post at a community college so my days are pretty much my own. Except for taking chemo every 28 days and caring for my two, teenage daughters, one of whom has Crohn's Disease and underwent an Ileostomy three months ago, my life as a two-time divorcee is just peachy. Any wonder I went looking for a sign from God to tell me life will get better?
The sign I got was people. I need to be around them, to joke with them, to consult them, to offer advice to them. My sign came when I went to the hardware store to buy a water heater; and when I went to the furniture store to look at kitchen flooring; and when I talked with a fellow musician about playing in the annual 4th of July Flight Breakfast; and when I called my brother; and when I sold my daughter's moped; and when I played cards with my daughter. Needing people really wasn't an epiphany. I've always been a social creature, but with the 4th of July approaching and friends and family bailing on me left and right, I've been feeling a little abandoned. Yes, I have abandonment issues. You try being four-years-old and having your mother lying in the hospital for months with ovarian cancer and a bloodclot to the lung with no one telling you squat. See if you don't fear loved ones leaving you without warning.
So my sign today was: people are my therapy and my path. I forget that sometimes. I shouldn't. After all, I teach communication. I don't always practice what I teach.
In addition to feeling abandoned, I've been feeling a little less than desirable. Nothing like cancer and a divorce to just suck the sexy right outta ya. So it was nice that She also sent me a sign of hope for finding someone special to share whatever time I have left. Not that this person is The ONE, but at least he's the hope of one to come. I got a little bit of my flirt on while selling the moped. This was more than just good business practice, he was cute. At least I think we were flirting. It's been so long, I might have just been justifying why the battery was dead, but I'd like to think when a man shakes my hand three times while finding more excuses to keep talking that he's flirting. And just for the record, I don't look like a cancer patient. I have my hair. I'm physically fit. I just have Non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma. They weren't pity handshakes. They were excuses to touch me. So there. That's my Segno de Deo, and I'm stickin' to it.
During my meditation and prayers last night, I asked God to send me a sign to let me know I'm headed in the right direction, down the path She has chosen for me. I've asked for signs before. You know, the kind where you let the Bible open to a certain page and then assume the words contained on that page will somehow translate into a meaningful sign in your life. Well, I did that too. I ended up somewhere in Ezekial with kingdoms being destroyed on the first day of the twelfth month in the twelfth year. Great. The end of the world is coming exactly five months from the day I asked for a sign. Good to know. I'd better pay attention.
I'm on summer break from my teaching post at a community college so my days are pretty much my own. Except for taking chemo every 28 days and caring for my two, teenage daughters, one of whom has Crohn's Disease and underwent an Ileostomy three months ago, my life as a two-time divorcee is just peachy. Any wonder I went looking for a sign from God to tell me life will get better?
The sign I got was people. I need to be around them, to joke with them, to consult them, to offer advice to them. My sign came when I went to the hardware store to buy a water heater; and when I went to the furniture store to look at kitchen flooring; and when I talked with a fellow musician about playing in the annual 4th of July Flight Breakfast; and when I called my brother; and when I sold my daughter's moped; and when I played cards with my daughter. Needing people really wasn't an epiphany. I've always been a social creature, but with the 4th of July approaching and friends and family bailing on me left and right, I've been feeling a little abandoned. Yes, I have abandonment issues. You try being four-years-old and having your mother lying in the hospital for months with ovarian cancer and a bloodclot to the lung with no one telling you squat. See if you don't fear loved ones leaving you without warning.
So my sign today was: people are my therapy and my path. I forget that sometimes. I shouldn't. After all, I teach communication. I don't always practice what I teach.
In addition to feeling abandoned, I've been feeling a little less than desirable. Nothing like cancer and a divorce to just suck the sexy right outta ya. So it was nice that She also sent me a sign of hope for finding someone special to share whatever time I have left. Not that this person is The ONE, but at least he's the hope of one to come. I got a little bit of my flirt on while selling the moped. This was more than just good business practice, he was cute. At least I think we were flirting. It's been so long, I might have just been justifying why the battery was dead, but I'd like to think when a man shakes my hand three times while finding more excuses to keep talking that he's flirting. And just for the record, I don't look like a cancer patient. I have my hair. I'm physically fit. I just have Non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma. They weren't pity handshakes. They were excuses to touch me. So there. That's my Segno de Deo, and I'm stickin' to it.
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