Quiet Gifts

June 2, 2011: Yesterday was my boyfriend's birthday. I think this is the first year I haven't at least given him a card to celebrate his happy day. My only gift was a birthday kiss and a sausage McMuffin for breakfast. I hope he knows how much I love him and how grateful I am to have his quiet, solid support in my life. He is the anchor in my sometimes stormy days and nights.

I am overwhelmed right now by the abundance of quiet gifts in my life. My children (and I count my daughter-in-law and son-in-law as my own, too) bend over backwards to make my life easier and brighter, serving me with simple acts of kindness and sacrificing their own hard-earned dollars to ease my burdens. They never complain, they never hesitate - they simply give and give some more, often anonymously. I can never thank them enough. My mom, too, has been quietly serving me during this tough last week of treatment. I am very grateful for the clean kitchen, the extra blanket on my cold feet, the bag of groceries or take-out to keep us fed, and the loving concern for my physical AND emotional health. She is an angel.

And then, there are the quiet gifts that have been coming through the mail, often unsigned, or simply signed, "from someone who loves you." My cup (and my tears) truly runneth over. The words of encouragement, the expressions of faith, the quotes that I'm carefully re-writing in my journal brighten my days like a happy-face balloon - they lift my spirits and make me smile. And those who are quietly and unselfishly helping me wade through the mountains of bills are truly an answer to prayer. I pray every day for YOU, that you will be blessed for your sacrifices and know the joy of your Christ-like service. I thank you with all my heart.

I have three more days of treatment. I keep telling my little shrunken tummy that grumbles and aches for a good meal and my blistered tongue and my swollen right earlobe (can't get an earring in anymore) and the tight, sunburned scar tissue on my neck that "this too shall pass." I hope in the future I never take my sensitive taste buds and barely-there saliva for granted, and I am anxious for the day when I can savor a bite of food with delicious abandon and not gag on the sticky saliva that clogs my throat. But, most of all, I hope and dream and pray that this "killer" radiation has truly killed any inkling of a cancer cell, any whisper of something that thinks it's going to ruin my life. I feel certain it has been successful, that with all the pain and starvation and inconvenience and cost, it was worth it, every second. And there's another quiet gift...the miracles and hope that flood my wounded body. Cancer - and radiation treatments - cannot kill that. I have no doubts - only hope and faith.