I lie in bed, waiting for the overwhelming fatigue of the day to finally settle in my bones and to quiet my racing thoughts. Tossing and turning, I grabbed the blankets and pulled them toward me. The house was unnervingly quiet.
I heard a soft noise like a kitten’s mewl. I shot up in bed, every sense alerted. I cocked my head and listened. I heard it again.
The noise, which now became an ethereal humming, filled my head. It shattered the preternatural silence of the house. I jumped from the bed and crammed my feet into my slippers.
The hum vibrated through my body. Sensing that its source was somewhere other than the bedroom, I allowed myself to be guided by the sound.
As if in a trance, I walked through the house, flicking lights on in each room, looking for the source. Nothing was out of place. The TV was off—no unearthly glow emanates from it. Every chair, every plant, every book was where I had left it earlier. But still the sound beckoned me.
Totally exhausted, I fell into a chair and the sound grew louder and steadier.
I closed my eyes.
A gentle breeze woke me and I heard the sound of waves pounding the beach. I breathed deeply.
I thought of the last few days when my husband faced the never-ending tests and relentless prodding by doctors and nurses. His patience seemed to be infinite, even when every move he made wracked his body with pain.
Memories of sitting across from the oncologist flooded back. I pulled an afghan around my shoulders as if to comfort me as I remembered the doctor’s words. In a clinical voice, he described a torturous treatment plan to defeat the out of control cells that had taken over my husband’s body.
The doctor’s words hung between us, taking on form and substance. We had talked that day, and had spoken only of recovery. We promised one another to not allow the thought of defeat to have any place in our lives.
The family room was cool and quiet. The ethereal sound had diminished and in its place was peace.
Dawn would soon color the sky like it had for so many millions days.
Later, I will go to the hospital and bring my husband to our home.
And for an uncertain number of days, we will be together.
You write with depth and understanding. I’m glad I know you.
I am really touched. Thanks.
Dear Kathy and Dan,
We prayed for both of you during that challenging time.
Life is precious, isn’t it.
Blessings,
Bobbi and Al Mastrangelo
Thank you, Bobbi. You were a great support.
Wow! I cant begin to comprehend what you,and especially, Dan, went through during this period of time in your lives. Thank God for His healing powers and for giving you faith and courage.
Mel
Thanks, Melanie. Not a day goes by that I don’t thank God for guiding us through this difficult time.
Today is the 22nd anniversary of my Mom’s passing. I can’t help but remember how brave she was to thnk about the quality of living and not the quanity of life, because that may not be ‘living”.
Lucy
What a lovely tribute to your Mom, Lucy.
We are both with you both in spirit. Our prayers are with you. hugs and love always, Sue & Chuck G
We both are with you in spirit. Our Prayers will be with you both daily.
We both are with you in spirit. Our prayers will be with you and your family daily.
Thank you so much for these lovely thoughts. Dan is doing a lot better.