Today is July 25, 2022
This evening has been a tough one.
When the curtain of the temple was torn in half, by the hand of God, things precious were exposed to the sight of those not worthy to stare at them and try to translate their value in their limited understanding. Such has happened in our home this evening.
The battle has mercifully lasted for over six-and-a-half years now, and the scars of initial wounds are visible and display themselves when the lighting is cast upon them. A dripping nose because the chemo long ago removed the interior membrane that subtly provides grace when help is needed to keep fluids from exiting. The tug of the blouse across the midsection because the fluids that are pumped into the body every three weeks, have no way to escape and so the skin stretches and bloats to accompany the liquid, unwanted guest.
And my wife remains the staunch Dutch-Italian gal that she is and refuses to show her hand when asked how she’s doing and how she’s feeling. Refusing to be a ‘cancer patient’, she keeps her one word reply of ‘fine’ at the ready and watches warily for any look of pity or any attempt at empathy from one who has only seen the battlefront in movies or across the pages of fiction.
But this evening, with only the two of us sharing the time, she broke and the curtain was torn away and I was shown the precious treasures of her strength and awkwardly sat beside her in the glare of it’s weary battle-worn, yet riches beyond my understanding, inner court. She wept because her bones are restless from the cruel results of the medication, while her body is exhausted from the relentless pounding of the chemicals and the pressures of her own mind in trying to choose the exact method that will carry her to see her family to their own prosperity.
David
