Walking Home

Health care isn’t for sissies.

I’ll bet most of you have had to deal with our monolithic healthcare system. God forbid you’ve had to navigate insurance, lack of insurance, reimbursements….all while trying to actually stay alive or keep your loved one alive.

Even when the health care you or your loved one is receiving is the BEST in the world. Even when your doctor is so amazing you want to invite him to Thanksgiving, even when you include the AFLAC duck in your nightly prayers….

It’s just HARD.

The last two week have been difficult, so let me whine a bit about it. Or wine about it…both of which have in fact, happened.

Jack and I headed to Houston for my 3 month checkup last week. It’s tax season at our house so you realize there’s a bit of extra stress to begin with when Jack’s missing work. We arrive in Houston and check into our awesome “home away from home”, the Rotary House.

We began the next day with a 6:30 am appointment followed by back to back appointments until 4:00 pm.

There are numerous locations at MD Anderson to have a CT scan and we received a call telling us my scan had been moved to a different building in order to keep us in one location for the rest of the day. Great right? Well, not so much. When we arrived the nurse (I lovingly refer to her as nurse Ratchet) was not happy. She ask why I was there and who told me I could change locations. HA…. girlfriend was in a MOOD. I finally convinced her that I had no control over the change and I’m thinking I might have responded with a “I don’t want to have the D_______ test in the first place”. … At that point I’m pretty sure Ratchet got my drift.

Little did I realize that the move of the scan required my being in the SMALLER machine. Funtimes. The top of the tube/cylinder was about an inch from my nose and my arms touched the sides. Lordy Mercy! As per usual I kept my eyes closed and quoted every scripture I knew, the Lord’s prayer and hymns where I didn’t remember the 3rd verse.

I made it. But I think the stress of the day finally hit Jack. He asked for Ratchet’s real name and then blistered her. Very much “unJack” like. By the time he was finished she was practically hugging me and asking how she could help. Oh Ratchet, I’m sorry. Kinda.

Bottom line? My hero, Dr. Gay (looks like Pete Buttigieg) told us that both the CT scan and the MRI were very, very positive. At that point nothing mattered except getting back to Jonesboro. Funny how every emotion flips on a dime when those results are read. You can almost feel the load lift.

After this news I had my port placed (kinda a bigger deal than expected) and we stayed the night before leaving H town for home.

In true Jack fashion we left early in the am. I slept most of the way, Jack drove like a bat out of… well, like a bat. We stopped ONCE and pulled into Jonesboro in time for him to get in a half a day at the office, ha.

THEN the snowpocalypse occurred on Monday when I was scheduled for my treatment. At Jack’s assistance I did not cancel. We (he, I had my eyes closed) made it. We even made it to the dentist to fix a tooth I broke on Gardetto’s. Impressive, huh? “Grandma, what old teeth you have”….

Since that time Jack hasn’t missed a day of work and I haven’t left the hacienda.

As it should be.

All this to say…… we survived.

• We got out of Houston BEFORE the emergency situation in the city (bless them all)
• I’m tired but I’m here….sleep is medicine, right?
• I babysat Cooper Friday and he’s just the most precious baby on the PLANET. I held him the entire time and it might as well have been a steroid shot.
• High school football players did a fabulous job of clearing our driveway
• My port worked beautifully, albeit an allergic reaction to something raging on my chest.
• I always mourn on Feb. 20…the day I lost my mom…. but I’ve had visits from beautiful cardinals this week and I know they are sending me love from her.
• God is good. Not because bad things don’t happen….they surely do… but when you pray hard enough you find the blessing from the bad… and the courage to carry on.

Hit me with your best shot, indeed

Fire away.

When I get older losing my hair
Many years from now
Will you still be sending me a Valentine
Birthday greetings bottle of wine? If I’d been out till quarter to three
Would you lock the door?
Will you still need me, will you still feed me
When I’m sixty-four

First of all, for what it’s worth, I’m only 62.

If you don’t recognize these wonderful lyrics then my little blog post is probably not going to resonate with you. But if you do…..

Let’s talk.

Teaching kept me young. Well, at least aware. I tried to keep up with popular music, fashion, trends… I’m sure I was still the “grandmother” figure to most of my students but I did put effort into being the “cool grandmother”… who knows if that worked. I enjoyed the respect given me by my younger colleagues and looked forward to helping them when asked.

In addition to surrounding myself with 12-14 year olds, I was required to learn how to use technology for everything… grading, discipline, teaching methods…..(took me twice as long as the average 30 year old) however I was proud to say that I could accomplish most of what was required….. with the assistance of great tech people and equipment anyway..

Getting my National Board Certification in 2008 was a matter of writing, recording, testing and self evaluation. You did it, printed it all out and popped it in a BOX in the mail. Fast forward to the renewal process just a few years later. ALL online. Upload, download, attach sound files, attach video files…etcetera! Yes, I managed to do it… but I’ll admit I asked a much younger colleague to help me submit because I was beside myself with “tech anxiety”…. If I remember correctly it took her 10 minutes and she ate a candy bar while doing it, while I stood behind her having a complete breakdown. (Yes, I passed.)

But let’s talk about the average senior? The ones without computers. The ones without grandchildren to help them navigate the tech world? Or the grandparents struggling to raise their grandchildren and do online school for heaven’s sake!! Can you even imagine the stress? I know I can’t. I know it’s difficult to believe but not everyone in the world has 1) a smart phone 2) a computer or laptop and 3) they don’t want one and shouldn’t have to have one

Again, if you don’t recognize the lyrics below….just ignore, or google them, whatever.

People try to put us d-down (Talkin’ ’bout my generation)
Just because we get around (Talkin’ ’bout my generation)
Things they do look awful c-c-cold (Talkin’ ’bout my generation)
I hope I die before I get old (Talkin’ ’bout my generation)

Think about this for a second…

Growing up in Myrtle Mo (no population sign) was, in my memory, idyllic. I know this sounds like I made it up, but we didn’t lock the doors at night. Our cars sat unlocked in the carport with the keys in the ignition. I’m positive it’s not that way now, but it’s how I remember it growing up.

All to say that I don’t handle vandalism, theft or any sort of destruction well, actually not at all.

When Jack and I got married in 1983 and moved to Jonesboro we loved the anonymity. We were in a new place, a city where we could drive around and imagine who lived in the “big” houses or go to dinner and not know a soul…..And then it happened. Some horrible criminal stole my ferns.

It was unbelievable!! My hanging ferns that were so pretty on my little front porch were missing. I was beside myself! I called the police to report the theft. I swear I heard laughter in the background as I tearfully gave my report. The police took my address, the time of day etc… and then asked me to describe.

I yelled “Boston!” “They were my Boston ferns!”.

Since my Daddy was the sheriff back in the day, I fancied myself a detective of sorts and spent the next few weeks driving the neighborhood looking for and knowing I would recognize my ferns.

Didn’t happen

As I mentioned earlier, I don’t handle theft or vandalism well. Thus my revulsion when watching the horrendous events of this week. And before you give me the “but what abouts” let me assure you I didn’t handle those well either.

I’m a law and order gal. Follow the dang rules people. Don’t tell me how much you LOVE this country while defiling one of it’s most sacred spaces.

But…

Believe it or not, facebook posts from acquaintances assured us last night that all of the demonstrators (not rioters) were peaceful and they even sang God Bless America (at least it wasn’t Lee Greenwood’s God Bless the USA) and that all of the photos of the destruction and violence were fake news. The culprits (if there were any) were surely Antifa or BLM wearing Trump hats, carrying Trump flags and wearing Trump shirts.

She knew this because her cousin’s friend saw it on Facebook.

Seriously.

Heck, teachers in our town took leave (sick days, gratuity days, bereavement days?) to join in the peaceful songfest among the thousands. During a pandemic no less. According to their posts, they only made it to the scaffolding, darn it all. Better luck next time?

I don’t know much, but I can assure you that if one of my children and his friends headed to JHS to break in, trash the place, zip tie the principal and a few teachers and kill a policeman…. and my son said “mom I promise I was just in the parking lot singing the fight song” …I would not only be devastated by his actions, he would suffer the consequences of the crime….

I’m sorry if I’m not to the “Kum by Yah” stage yet. I’m still sickened, disappointed, sad, scared and nauseous that this has happened in our great country.

I fear it’s not over. Not at all.

And I wonder…what do my Jewish brothers and sisters think when they see the 6mne (6 million not enough) shirts or the Auschwitz staff shirts? How disgusting. And how hurt are my black friends who see the Confederate flag carried in the Capitol to replace the American flag? And really….. don’t we all believe that if the rioters had been black they would have been shot?

Patriots?

Do not confuse my words. I have many Republican friends who are just as upset as I am. They would NEVER engage in this kind of behavior. Never. We disagree on lots of policy but not this. I think I am the most sorry for the Republicans who feel as if their party has abandoned them….The Mitt Romney’s of the world are beyond disgusted. Can you blame them?

So now what? What can we do?

Pray this ugliness doesn’t rear its head during the Inauguration. Please.

Even if you hate Joe Biden down to your toes…. pray for no violence.

Even if you’re sure all the Democrats are going to hell, pray for no violence.

Even if you think Donald Trump is your savior, pray for no violence.

For the record, I now lock my doors. My car is locked and in the garage. My ferns are still Boston and they stay in the backyard..

I still sing “God Bless America”.

But Lee Greenwood? Not so much.

I’m pretty certain there’s one thing we all agree upon.

IT’S BEEN A TOUGH YEAR.

We haven’t seen most of our friends since March. I haven’t done any shopping since March. I haven’t been to church since March. We haven’t gone out to a restaurant since August (outside seating…) and now we’ve even quarantined from our family.

We’ve lost PRECIOUS friends to this insidious virus. We’ve listened as folks downplayed the seriousness of the virus, and laughed at us as we wore our masks. We heard folks tell us it was all political and would end after the election. We’ve also listened as intelligent people have suddenly become medical experts as the REAL doctors and nurses desperately and heroically try to get their messages to sink in.

AND HERE WE ARE AT CHRISTMAS

We love our Christmas programs and our celebration of the Christ. We want our pageants and our concerts and our ceremonies. Heck! Who doesn’t love them and want them. But some folks aren’t doing them safely, some will gather with sweet family and friends for gifts and food, and the VIRUS will continue to spread.

Trust me, Jesus is ok if you skip a few of these activities!

Vaccinations

Well….. we’re all over the place aren’t we? On any given day you can find someone declaring them to be unsafe and and dangerous and vowing not to take them. We pray enough folks WILL take them and by summer we’ll get that flat line we need. We pray that the right folks will receive the vaccine and that the politicians and those who aren’t on the front lines won’t cut the line like a junior high boy in a school cafeteria. We know it’s happening…….we expected it, right?

I continue to be AMAZED at the intelligence of the scientists who were able to produce the vaccine and those who are in charge of logistics. We know vaccines are only as good as the vaccinations that occur, so we pray.

We pray a lot.

And now…….. we try to be joyful. Celebrations of Christ’s birth surely aren’t affected by all of the above, right?

Does it matter that this year I only dragged out 1/2 of my decorations? Does it matter that I copped out and my gifts are in bags and not beautifully wrapped? Does it matter that I’m buying a cheese ball? (Lord please don’t tell mama.) Have we contributed to Amazon more than we wanted? Have we sought out local businesses who are willing to cater to us and have taken time to help with out gifts?

Are we really trying acknowledge the essence of Christmas and Christ’s birth?

Please say yes…

Have we taken the time to breathe and reminisce about holidays of the past and glean the important from the non? I want to believe so. I really do.

And just because it’s my blog and I can write what I feel….let me share a few memories in hopes that they’ll help jog a few of yours…

• The big cedar tree at FBC Myrtle Mo. How it smelled, how beautiful it was
• The drawings for free groceries at Wisehart 3-in-1
• The drawings for cash in Thayer (Rose Ella always won)
• The brown paper sacks of oranges and candies each church member received after the Christmas program
• My brother cutting down our tree and dragging it home. Especially the time I couldn’t keep up and walked way, way behind him in his footprints left in the snow. And my beagle Pete (chubby and old) who couldn’t keep up with me and trailed behind doing the same.
• The time my family received matching pajamas from Uncle Tink and wore them across the street to Grandma’s on Christmas eve. When a car drove by catching us in the light mother was so embarrassed and tickled she wet her pants. (God don’t tell her I said that either)
• The black velveteen jumper mother had made for my junior high choir program. I never, ever felt so pretty.
• Mike’s insistence that we decorate the porch with boughs of cedar and huge colored lights… and going to the river to cut real mistletoe out of the trees.
• Jack’s grandpa Carl bursting into song as the records played. And how he always had a sweater buttoned up and still sat in front of the fire.
• Travis hiring a Santa to arrive and deliver gifts to the boys
• Reba hiring someone to make all the candy (and she didn’t feel an ounce of guilt).
• Reba always hiring Miss Tilly to clean up so she didn’t miss a minute of the fun.
• The excitement my boys always felt when going to JoKay’s or Becky’s or their Grandparents…..
• The love that was shared…

We’ll do it again

Next year when this virus finally leaves us alone we’ll do everything! We’ll be safe and we’ll celebrate BIG in every way! Hopefully we’ll all look back on this year with a better realization of what’s important and what really matters.

Our families, our friends. The Christ who was born to save us.

If I make it to next year, I know I will.

Charles Woodrow Wilkerson was born on July 3, 1916, the youngest of five children born to Oliver Cicero and Lula Catherine Wilkerson.

He was my Daddy.

Oliver Cicero (my grandpa) decided to name the baby Charles Woodrow in “honor” of the two presidential candidates, Charles Evans Hughes and Woodrow Wilson. There was just one problem. Grandpa wanted him to be known by the winner’s name and the election was obviously not until November.

So baby Charles Woodrow was lovingly called Buster and by the time the November election rolled around it was too late, Buster it was. Then, and until the day he died.

In my favorite picture of baby Buster he’s a toddler, standing on a literal tree stump. My Aunt Lucille said he was either preaching or giving a political speech. Could have been both.

Perfectly Buster.

Hopefully this helps you better understand the Wilkerson political fervor in 1916 and what remains of that fervor today.

I wanted to write my little blog for the election, but truth be told I chickened out. Political posts and rhetoric became so ugly and hurtful that I thought I’d just save my thoughts until the election was over and all had settled down.

Silly girl.

It’s no secret that I’m a Democrat. Some you will probably stop reading at this juncture and that’s ok. Go forth and be happy. But for those so inclined, let me (as Ricky Ricardo would say to Lucy) ‘splain.

My parents raised me to be aware of current events, support my community and be proud of my opinions. In our house two newspapers (the Springfield Daily News and the West Plains Daily Quill) arrived daily, in addition to the weekly Thayer News and the South-Missourian Democrat (the latter loving called the SMD). I had a boyfriend who sang (we keep gettin richer but we can’t get our picture on the cover of the SMD)… but that’s a story for another day, ha. Buster and Irene also subscribed to Time and Newsweek and Life magazines.

Yes…aware. We were aware.

I shut my eyes and see my mother at the kitchen table drinking coffee and reading the Quill every day after school. Oh for one more day…

My political interest piqued when Daddy ran for office (and lost). I was acutely aware of the cost of the campaign to our family and my 4th grade ears and eyes didn’t miss a word. Daddy eventually ended up with a great insurance job and things were ok…. but this was my political beginning.

My parents supported Kennedy, Johnson and Hubert Humphrey. Becky came home from college supporting Eugene McCarthy in 1968 but that was short lived, ha. I clearly remember the assassinations of John F. Kennedy and the church service my mother planned for the community. I remember the devastation of losing Bobby Kennedy and Martin Luther King and the longing I felt for a leader who would guide us out of the muck.

I distinctly remember watching the 1972 Democratic convention upstairs in my bedroom on my black and white tv. The George McGovern nomination didn’t come until the early morning hours, but I was hanging on every word. I hated the war, I was a young teenager who wore a POW bracelet and had nightmares of Vietnamese attacking our house. I wanted so badly to believe in someone.

Nixon won and I didn’t believe. At all.

I turned 18 in October of 1976 and proudly voted the first time for Jimmy Carter in November. I’ll always be proud of that vote. What a good man. He still is.

In college from 1977-1981 It was made very clear to me that I had exited the Democratic bubble in which I had been raised. My first college boyfriend, a Delta Tau Delta from St. Louis whose name I have forgotten, sent me my first dozen red roses. All was fine and dandy until he commented, and I quote, “I’ve never met a white democrat before”…..haha… let’s just say that was the end of that.

There were approximately 10 students in the young democrats at William Woods and that included the governor’s daughter. I swear that it felt as if the rest of the student body was in the young republicans. Reagan was easy to love but I was steadfast in my democratic persuasion.

My friend and sorority sister Kenda supported Joe Holt when he ran for governor and getting to fly on the campaign plane to West Plains for a rally was probably the proudest Buster had ever been of his little democrat. Maybe it made up for all the boring piano recitals he had to sit though, ha. I remember inviting the Lieutenant Governor, Roger Wilson, to speak at our student educators banquet and basking in the Missouri political sunlight… It was fun to be so close to Jefferson City and state government.

Jack and I married in 1983. Kenda warned me that Jack was a republican and I assured her he wasn’t registered. (truth) We loved our local State Senator Mike Lybyer and our State Representatives Travis Morrison and Gene Oakley and they all attended our wedding. Daddy was chair of the county democrats and he loved every minute.

We were still in living in Missouri when the Democratic Caucus occured in 1983. Missouri wasn’t a primary state back then. We caucused in the Thayer gym. Anyway, I clearly remember caucusing for John Kerry and my parents caucusing for Walter Mondale. (not my best choice…Monkey Business anyone?…ok, look it up.

Time passed and Bill Clinton won our hearts and our votes. Thank to my BIL being the mayor, Bill spent time in Mammoth Spring and even had lunch at JoKay’s. Hillary was delightful and we talked about education in Arkansas and what could be done to improve the education of our state students. Bill loved my piano playing (Hail to the Chief) and loved Jack’s tie. We were sold.

I was teaching in Arkansas when I was berated by a colleague over my support of the Clinton and the ridiculous teacher test everyone was so angry about. I remember standing up and declaring that it was a free country and I could vote however I wanted. To his credit the colleague later came to my room and apologized.

And yes it’s true, Bill let us down with his personal failing. I was disappointed and angry with him. I never made excuses for his behavior. I still don’t.

I never understood the hatred so many folks had and still have for Hillary. Her intelligence always impressed me, but others still hate her with a passion that should be reserved for serial killers. Last night there were protesters at her house yelling “lock her up”…. in 2020 so there’s that.

Which leads me to the end of the Suzanne democrat saga.

I love Barack Obama. There, I said it. He’s smart, he’s classy, he was always presidential. He was always measured in his demeanor. I miss him.

I like Joe Biden. He’s the xanax for our anxiety attack. He won’t embarrass me. He’ll appoint intelligent, qualified people to positions. Yes, he’s old. I’ll bet he wishes he were 10 or 15 years younger too, but he’s not.

But here’s the deal. I LOVE MY REPUBLICAN FRIENDS AND THEY LOVE ME. We know where we stand and we don’t yell at each other. We are sensitive to each other’s opinions and we know when we can or can’t discuss politics. Our country was BUILT on the two party system and I pray we can keep it this way. We need strong leaders on both sides of the aisle. We need differences of opinion from our leaders. We need compromise. We need to not be so closed minded that we can never CHANGE our thoughts on a subject by intelligent discourse. Intelligent discourse. Remember that? We need to quit calling people names and hurling insults. Violence is simply unacceptable. That’s not who we are as Americans.

I’m going to stay a democrat (thanks Buster) and many of you will always be republican and that’s ok. Don’t shoot me. Don’t tell me I’m going to hell.

My hope is that we stay engaged and knowledgeable.

That we read more, watch less.

That we listen to each other.

That we continue to love each other.

And if you don’t like my words, or disagree, or think I’m an idiot,

Blame it on Buster.

” these small pieces of luggage were first used around 1948 and are called “train cases” because they were used for train travel, basically for carrying toiletries”.

I turned 62 this week. Shocking, I know. Shouldn’t I be 45 and holding? Apparently not. Anyway, as is customary for me, I spent time looking back and reminiscing about birthdays past.

I was privileged to be raised in a really small town which wasn’t actually a town but a community, with no population listed on the sign. A place so small you could mail me a letter with only my name on it, no street address, only the name of the town and zip code. My college friends thought it was hysterical.

I thought it was perfect.

Some of my first memories of birthday celebrations centered around my friends at school and our birthday “parties”. My family, as well as the families of my friends, were not rich. Heck…. we were far from it. There were no limousines or fancy dress up parties or trips. No paid entertainment, no party favors and as my memory serves, no gifts from friends. What we did have was lots of innocent fun and overnight bunking parties!

When one of my friends (you know who you are) had a birthday, all the girls in my class (it was really, really small) were invited to spend the night! Oh my gosh how exciting! We could barely contain ourselves during the school day (yes, the school day…) and when the bell rang we all grabbed our train cases and headed to the birthday girl’s bus. There were no notes to the teacher, no permission slips, no worries…. teachers, can you believe that? We would go running, all 10-15 of us to the bus and to our adventure. Once on the bus we would stack our train cases in the front by the driver (totally against today’s rules) ready for our overnight bunking fun. The busdriver, who I’m sure we knew by name, would tease us about our stack of luggage and how much trouble we were going to get in to and how brave the birthday girl’s parents were!

I shut my eyes and I can see Becky’s mom having cheeseburgers ready for us as we unloaded. She was funny and welcoming and we loved her. At Jan’s we had marvelous “dress up” parties because for some reason her mom had boxes of fancy clothes and hats upstairs. At Janet’s I flipped the mini bike trying to ride/drive for the first time. Mother almost didn’t let me go to Gail’s because she thought sweet Aunt Emma had too many children, nieces and nephews to care for. I begged to go and she gave in…and Aunt Emma danced with us, fed us and it was perfectly wonderful. Pam’s was always so much fun, Shana was there and we walked the woods behind the house and stayed up late talking about school and boys…ha. I remember Frances’ where we had fresh milk and homemade bread and Pam C’s where her single mom laughed with us and fed us like queens. Never were there enough beds but sleeping on the floor was no issue for us! The more little girls all over the floor the better! My birthday was in October and there were huge oak trees in our yard so we raked leaves, jumped in leaves, built fires and cooked hot dogs…. everybody was on their best behavior because after all, Irene was a teacher…

After each bunking party we woke up, we were fed a homemade breakfast, and we climbed back on the bus and went back to school for another day.

What an innocent time. What a precious time.

What wonderful people. Good as gold people.

Lots of things have changed since then… but parents still love their children and their children’s friends. Hearts continue to break for those less fortunate….those without friends or families who love them.

I’m fortunate enough to stay in touch with most of these high school friends by facebook, with my college sorority sisters through both a group chat and a weekly call (where we tell the same stories over and over) and my Jonesboro friends who go above and beyond taking care of me. I have been so blessed to have girlfriends from my childhood and career, my church and my community…… friends that I would do anything for and who I’m confident will be there for me until the end. What do the kids say? “Ride or Die”…..those are my people.

“A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for a time of adversity.” Proverbs 17:17

“My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.” John 15:12-14

So…. my hope is that you appreciate and treasure your friends. All of them. If you are struggling to find that special friend group maybe you need to reach out, join the church, join the community group, volunteer, be the one who hosts the party and plans the potluck….. Money doesn’t matter, things don’t matter, people matter, relationships matter.

Grab your traincase and get on the bus. You’ll never regret the trip, I promise.

When I was in 7th grade I wanted desperately to be a anti war radical. I wore my brother’s old army jacket, a POW bracelet and earth shoes and subscribed to Rolling Stone (until my mother read it). I also found it hysterical that a friend would bring cigarettes to school enabling several of my friends and I to smoke in the bathroom during lunch. Well, that little walk on the wild side ended one day when the Principal opened the bathroom door to a cloud of smoke.

The next day my daddy suffered his first heart attack.

Off to the hospital went mother and daddy and I had to stay with my grandmother. I knew without a doubt this whole thing was my fault because of those cigarettes. I prayed so hard for him to live and my little baptist heart begged forgiveness for causing this horrible thing to happen. My guilt was my secret.

As a young mother I was overwhelmed with working mom guilt. I was a teacher. A choral director. The obsessed kind. The kind that wanted to have the biggest and best program around. The kind that counted how many all region and all state members and compared the total to every other district in the region. The kind that stressed over ratings and kept every one of them in notebooks comparing year to year. Always worried if I was doing the best job I could while knowing that I was being beaten in the “preparedness” category by other moms.

I distinctly remember the day Chase was to bring cookies to his Montessori preschool. I was tired from school and cooking dinner, but determined to make my world famous cookies after I put the boys to bed. I’m sure Jack was in tax season (that’s a story for another day). It was after midnight but those marvelous oatmeal pecan chocolate chip cookies were baked, packaged and perfect.

As I dropped Chase off the next morning he cried because I had made cookies with “puke-ons” in them. When asked, he shared that he wanted Oreos. Guilt.

Fast forward to 1997…..well, actually 1996. I felt a lump in my left breast. I knew it couldn’t be cancer because my mammogram was clear. So, I did nothing. As months passed the lump didn’t go away, I had a knot under my arm and my breast bled. I went to two different doctors who assured me it was ok. I did nothing. Finally, in the summer of 1997 a third doctor, and the hero of the story, demanded I get a biopsy and the rest (stage 3b breast cancer, mastectomy, 8 chemo treatments, a stem cell transplant and 30 radiation treatments) is history. I was all my fault. Guilt. I believed the wrong people, I didn’t listen to my body and I was too busy to slow down and take care of the problem before it progressed. My guilt was at times overwhelming. Guilt that my husband had to endure having a “sick” wife that required CVC cleaning, disfigurement, financial hardship and the stress of taking care of me and our boys while doing his own stressful job. God love him.

After 20+ years cancer free the guilt was finally buried under years of normality. Precious years of raising our boys, progressing in our careers and living life. The wonderful gift of being present for both boys’ graduations, weddings and the births of two perfect grandchildren was joyous and I was, and am. grateful.

And then…

Stage 4 lung cancer with brain mets. How did this happen to a non-smoking breast cancer survivor? Did I miss or ignore symptoms again? Guilt. What in the world have I done this time to deserve this? Was it my diet coke, coffee, sugar, no exercise, work too hard lifestyle? Guilt. My grandchildren probably won’t remember me. My friends will grow weary of loving the “sick” one who can’t entertain or be as fun as she used to be. Jack will never remember to buy new shoes. Medical bills are so astronomical that I don’t dare look. Is it my fault? Guilt.

So grace.

2 Corinthians chapter 12 says “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.”

John 1:3 says “Grace, mercy and peace from God the Father and from Jesus Christ, the Father’s son, will be with us in truth and love.”

Grace, freely bestowed to all who believe. I sing these words but now’s the time to listen and take them to heart. My guilt, real or imagined, is covered by his grace. What a beautiful thing. What a glorious thing. He understands, he forgives, his grace is indeed sufficient. Because of him my family and my friends will extend grace to me as I walk through these days. They’ll do it because they love me and God’s grace covers them as well. We are forgiven people.

So, today……I will live. I will enjoy every minute given me and do my best to not think ahead. My illness is not my fault. God didn’t send it to me as punishment for some mortal failure. Being honest with God about my struggles and challenges with this darn illness means I’m trusting in his grace. Amazing grace. Infinite grace.

It’s a beautiful Arkansas morning as summer and autumn collide. I look out the sunroom window and marvel at his creation. Robbie, the dog next door, makes an unexpected visit to the patio as does the cat from across the street. They just dropped by to say hello. Somebody is mowing one last time. I drink my coffee and anxiously wait today’s visit from dear friends and the birthday celebration I’ll have with my sweet family this weekend.

After all, Anne Lamott says “Grace bats last”……..and my game’s not over.