Monday Morning

Sigh. Monday morning means a port draw, a constant reminder of my own cancer, and now a prod to recall Dad's battle. I am tired of cancer. I want a vacation from it. I know that will not happen, at least for the next four years. OK. Adjust your thinking. This is a reminder that your cancer is under control and that you are doing well. Celebrate that!



Yes, a nice cup of steaming Earl Gray tea, a chocolate chip muffin top, and a deep breath before heading out the door for the cancer center. That's better. I zip my Robert Shaw Christmas CD in the slot and fill the air in my car with the joy of the season. Shaw's orchestral renditions are tinged with just the right amount of serious contemplation to fit my mood this year. I pray for Dad as I navigate the rainy roadways.



Back at work, I try to focus on an upcoming strategic planning meeting. I jump into email sorting with a vengeance, following Mom's example. When you are upset or worried about something, the best cure besides prayer is to keep yourself busy. I do just that, smiling as I recall how Mom is cleaning the whole house in preparation for Dad returning home. Spring cleaning at that! The curtains are coming down and being fluffed and folded, the walls are being scrubbed, the floors rendered squeaky clean lest some odor affect Dad's ability to breathe easily.



Half of me is here, the other half with Dad. As I take care of each task, my divided brain continues a constant stream of prayer. Would it be any more effective if I were in a monastery doing nothing but praying, as I have often longed to do? Probably not. For now, I busy myself about the necessary tasks at hand, leaving Dad in God's capable hands. I can think of no better place for him to be.