…and here in part 2 is my response back to my friend.
His words were a spot of brightness on a dark canvas of a day that was too long, and too full of ….. Junk.
Thanks for writing and sharing your story, Rick. We are all blessed by your presence in our world!
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Rick,
Very interesting!
I have a piece that I’m editing up now, that I really wrote back before I got into the whole Cancer Dance about how one does the same thing: releasing all those travails over to the angels. I hope to have it up on the blog soon, it’s called “The Flaming Cowboy Hat.”
In my case, it’s a straw cowboy hat that I can’t wear in the car because it bumps up against the seat backs, and flies off my head when the top is down – so I re purposed it as a “ritual” device. Our cathedrals are where we choose to find them, even in the men’s hat section at WalMart. ☺
Anyway, once a week I have a little ritual of taking all the little folded pieces of paper (that I’ve not re-read: once I fold them and drop then they are GONE to me.) I put them some place safe outside (I have a little stone bird feeder kind of thing) put a little lighter fluid on them and drop in a match.
God…Allah… Shiva.. Whatever it is for you. Or none of the above…
The Maker is far better equipped to handle that Junk than I am, so I gratefully write it on the paper, and put it in the hat. Then take the papers out, and cast them up to the skies in flame and smoke, and watch my Junk fly up to The Maker, who will then take care of them for me.
Fortunately there is always plenty of paper, and matches are easy to come by, as the supply of Junk in our lives seems never-ending!
Bringing that sort of ritualized moments into our lives without pulling out the smellz ‘n bellz of church – that’s what a spiritual director does. (Though I’m a fairly high-church boy myself, when it’s just me and the Big Guy alone in the pews!)
I had about 10 minutes in the car on the way home from the Cancer diagnosis of Poor me, but I got over that quickly and just started doing the “guy” thing:
make a plan, figure out what pill I gotta take, and try not to scream like a GIRL in front of the nurses when they start poking me with needles.
And try not to look TOO excited any time a doctor mentioned any examination or test procedure that started with procto…
LOL
Treatment is tough – I looked like “lizard man” with no hair and no eyelashes and my skin had the most lovely celadon tint.
People knew what was going on and they were ready to jump in and help. After, though, within a few months I began to look “better” on the outside, went into remission (that’s the best I get for my particular process, no “cancer free” for me!) and suddenly I wasn’t meeting other peoples’ (or my) expectations:
- why aren’t you working as fast as you once did?
- Why can’t you multi-task and put in 80 hour weeks like you once did?
- And in my case: what happened to your homilies? – You stumble over words…
“But you LOOK really good for somebody with a half million dollars worth of poison up their veins!!”
Fun stuff.
Maybe that was where your friend’s depression was hitting: for me it’s the head-on collision between what my brain “expects” that I can still do, and what my body (and short-term memory) dictate is reality. So for me remission was far worse than the treatment, only you get to live and try it again tomorrow! ☺
I tend to get up early here, so I’m looking outward to the Maker thinking/praying:
“Let’s go!”
“Oh well.”
It’s all that stuff in the middle, between those two prayers, that often-as-not ends up in the proverbial Flaming Cowboy Hat!
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Later in the week I’ll take out the Junk, set it aflame, and send it all off to God, Saints, and the Angels.
And so on we go.
Keep the faith!
- Amen
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