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Upon the Rising

09 Nov

Upon the Rising

Can you hear it?

The crunch of the pebbles as my boots connect with natures footpath.
The quiet moan of the trees as they say slowly say goodbye to their covering and prepare for the harsh winds of winter.
The rustling ahead as the startled white-tailed doe scurries off to safer ground.
The gentle course of the river as it meanders through the valley and around bend.
Ah, the crescendo of the falling water sweeping over the cascades as it joins the swifter flow!

Can you see it?
The tiny white mushroom hiding sheepishly beneath the blanket of leaves covering the forest floor.
Autumn’s palette as she paints the canopy in her hues of red, orange and yellow gold.
The sun peaking up over the horizon, greeting the dawn with a warm, welcoming kiss.
The graceful blue Heron gliding along the still air, softly claiming his perch on the river’s bank.
Do I spot a rainbow emerging from the water’s surface? A feisty trout chasing after a morning snack!

Can you smell it?
The brisk morning air permeated with the aroma of the changing seasons.
The mild decay of the mighty oak, once king of the forest, now uprooted and blocking the trodden path.
The faint stench of death as life in the woods surrender to Mother Nature’s cycle.
The browns of fallen leaves and the greens of cushy moss,
I scoop up a handful of soil and breathe in the earthy scent.

Can you feel it?

The vulnerability of the trees as it is time again to surrender their mask of green and courageously display their true colors.
The rhythm of the sparrow’s song, announcing her presence and ownership of her branch.
The awe-filled wonder as I am humbled by the beauty that surrounds me.
The fresh hope of a new day flooding my soul with tranquility.|
I inhale slowly. The calm rush of the crisp air is intoxicating as it travels to my lungs with power and purpose.

Upon the rising…
Of the sun in loyalty
Of my hands in praise
Of my heart in adoration
Of my countenance bathed in gratefulness
Of my spirit overflowing with joy.

Good morning!
(Tailwaters Trail, South Holston River, November 3, 2024

 
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Posted by on November 9, 2024 in Uncategorized

 

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Winter, My Friend

19 Jan
Margarette Falls

Winter is the slow down
Winter is the search for self
Winter gives the silence we need to listen
Winter goes gray so we can see our own colors…” Terry Guillimets

I always anticipate the first snow hike of the winter season. One of my favorite local desitinations is the Margarette Falls Trail in Greeneville, Tennessee. The weekend weather forecast brought rumors of a coming snowstorm and sure enough, come Monday afternoon, the snow was falling and the ground was turning white. Tuesday morning’s sunrise presented a winter wonderland of freshly fallen snow. Plans were made for a gathering of friends and a quick after work hike on Wednesday. As our feet traveled up the crunchy trail, we were serenaded by the chilling waters of Dry Creek as it flowed over frozen rocks, and tumbled down cascades cloaked in artistic ice formations from the overspray. The crisp winter air laid gently on our exposed cheeks, bringing an exhilrating sensation as it rushed through our nostrils, warming our lungs on the uphill climb. My senses were on overload and I felt like a kid in a candy shop, standing in awe of the brilliant winter landscape before us. As we approached the falls, it was no surprise that Margarette would be stunning wrapped in her new winter wardrobe. Oh, what a blessing to experience such beauty and share moments and laughter with friends in such an incredible place. We returned home with refreshed souls and our longing for nature therapy fullfilled.

As Thursday morning greeted my sleepy eyes, my thoughts were still lingering on our hike. I used to despise winter and being cold is one of my least favorite things. Every year as Autumn approached, I could feel the dread of the cold days that were coming creeping up inside of me Nothing about the winter season appealed to me. I loathed the frigid temperatures that caused my entire body to shiver for months, the naked trees, the browns and grays, and the troublesome snow, well it was just a curse word to me. The only thing I smiled at was seeing my children play, building snowmen, snow angels, snowball fights and sledding. In the spring of 2013, when I discovered the hobby of hiking and something miraculous shifted in my mindset. I fell head over heels in love with nature on my first outing.The sights, the sounds, the wonders of nature all captivated my soul and with each new adventure, I fell deeper in love. The spring and summer wildfowers, the vast amount of different fungi, the getting up early to witness the sun break the horizon and say hello to the new day, the starry skies that covered me as I hiked out in the dark after watching the sun kiss the earth goodnight. The high peaks, the low valleys, the creeks and the waterfalls, the fiery red skies, the emerald green mossy forests, the colorwheel of leaves falling from the trees. I was enamored by it all and looked forward to every oppportunity that I had to put my feet on a trail. As the seasons changed and the days grew colder, I remember feeling a little downhearted about missing a few months of being out and a friend suggested a winter hike. What? Me, outside in the winter? As crazy as it sounded, I decided to give it a try. Needless to say, I was just as fascinated with mother nature in all of her winter glory as I was with her on her warm days. Eleven years later, I look forward to those winter destinations that cannot be tried safely in the hot summer months as the trails breed lots of overgrowth, briars and dangers of snakes.

While laying snuggled up under my covers with my doggie cuddled against me, I came across the above quote on social media. It’s one of those quotes that when you read it, it seizes your every being. I refelcted on how I use to see winter as my enemy, however these days, I look at her with a much grander perspective.The older I get the more I realize that just as the earth needs a respite from all of its blooming, so does my soul. Winter isn’t meant to break me, but instead a season to remove that which is not necessary and reveal the foundation which holds me together. Who am I underneath the vivid colors of growth? What virtues remain to steady me in the bitter winds and stripping away to bare bones? How deep is the faith that will carry me through until the sun warms the frozen ground again? Until the first new bud rises up with courage and perseverance and the songbird stirs a fresh melody of hope in my heart?

Ah winter, you are more of a friend to me than I have realized. My loyal companion who is not afraid to speak the truth. My comforter when my covering is sparse. You are my iron that sharpens iron. You teach me the art of letting go. Come, do your work in me until spring comes to sweep me off of my feet again.

Some of the ice formations along the creek
a trail treat 🙂
 
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Posted by on January 19, 2024 in Uncategorized

 

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I Have Missed My Father

08 Jan

Have you ever wondered if you can miss something that you have never had? All of my life I have never had a close relationship with my father. From the moment I was conceived, my father despised and rejected me. Growing up I never understood the hatred that he seemed to have for me and the abuse that he inflicted.

My father met my mother when she was in her late teens. They married shortly after he returned from the army and fought in the war in Vietnam. My father served 4 years and returned home an alcoholic, full of rage, very cruel and very abusive. As a sober man, my father was handsome, funny, charming and quite likable. When he drank, no one was safe from the fits of rage that consumed him and everyone in his path. My mother lived in extreme fear of her life and ours for 17 long years until she was able to finally escape the horrible violence. I can still see that 13-year-old girl standing on her grandmother’s porch, torn with emotion as my father told me he would be leaving. My father left a lot and would be gone for days on end, so that part was nothing unusual. This time however, my father told me that my mother had filed for divorce and he would be leaving for good. I would be lying if I did not admit that part of me was elated that he would not be a in our lives anymore. None of us would have to spend our days and nights living in fear of whether we would live or die. Another part of me was sad because this man whom I had so desperately tried to earn his love and approval was leaving. My young, divided heart couldn’t help but wonder if I would miss him?

Before he left he handed me a $20 bill that he said he owed me for shooting me in my rear with a bb gun. One day when I was around 7 or 8 years old, He had told that he would give me $20 if I bent over and let him shoot me and not cry. He promised he would only pump the gun up once, and little did my innocent heart know he had pumped it 20 times already. I took the bet and as soon as the bb hit me, I screamed in pain and lost the bet. I had a bruise for weeks. Years later, standing on my grandmother’s porch, he finally admitted that he had lied about how many times he had pumped the gun up. As he handed me the money he asked, “B.D. (my nickname my dad gave me when I was little, He said I looked like a Bald-headed Duck. I really don’t think he meant it as a compliment) anyway, “B.D., I never was mean to you, was I.”  I reluctantly accepted his peace offering and replied, “no daddy, you were never mean to me.” We both knew that was a bold face lie. The hard truth was yes, YES! My father was meaner than a den full of vipers with Satan as their master, however I had learned over the years that the safest response was just to affirm the words he wanted and needed to hear.

For the next 10 years I remember seeing my father once. I went with my oldest sister to one of the gaps in Southwest Virginia to visit him for a while. I don’t really remember much about the visit except when we were leaving I told him I missed him when honestly, I didn’t. The only connection I had with this man was the trauma he had beat into me for the first 13 years of my life.  I lived many years of my adult life controlled by the lies he has instilled in my fragile heart. I believed I was ugly, stupid, useless, a crybaby, not wanted, unworthy to be called by his name and absolutely unlovable. It was a tough road to hoe for a young girl and I didn’t fare to well with it for a long time.

Life without my father went on. I graduated high school and my father wasn’t there. I didn’t miss him. I had my first date and my father wasn’t there. I didn’t miss him. I got a job and bought my first car. My father wasn’t there. I didn’t miss him. I got married and my father wasn’t there. I didn’t miss him. Birthdays, holidays, father’s days came and went and I never gave it a second though that my father wasn’t there. It wasn’t until I had my first child that an uncanny desire rose up in me for my children to know their only living grandfather. I reached out to my father and made plans to go visit him. Back in those days there was no internet or cell phones, so we communicated through hand written letters or land line telephones, making plans for me, my children, my sisters and children to visit him. We always had to pick a specific date to ensure that my father was sober for our arrival. Visits went decent for the most part, but on some occasions, not so much. One time right after my first son was born, we went for visit. My sisters and I could tell something wasn’t right. My father seemed agitated and was using curse words that he normally didn’t say when we were visiting. He commented that he didn’t know we were coming and his girlfriend piped up proclaiming that yes, he did! That did not suit well with him and I saw the father that I had lived with for years rise up in him. I knew it was time to leave, yet he wasn’t willing to let us go easily. I had to take all of the kids to McDonalds, leaving my sisters behind, and wait for him to pass out to go get them and all of us head home. Needless to say, it was a while before I ventured back to see him.

There were a few more occasions over the years that we all got together, mostly Christmases and Thanksgivings. I would try to remember to call and wish my father a happy birthday, although he never called to wish me one. I would remind myself to call him around Father’s Day and talk to him, although he never thought to call me on Mother’s Day. Usually whenever my father called me, he thought he was calling someone else. I would answer and when he realized he had called me, he would make small talk and promise to come to see us soon. “Soon” didn’t happen and honestly, I really didn’t miss him. The worst phone call I received from my father was one evening when he had been drinking. We talked for a few minutes and before he hung up he said those old familiar words, “B.D. I never was mean to you, was I?” At this point in my life I was no longer a terrified little girl that felt the need to give him the answer he wanted. Instead, my answer was “yes, YES you were mean to me. You were mean to all of us! You made our life a living hell. But I have forgiven you for all of that.” He did not like my answer one bit and all I heard on the other line was the phone being slammed on the hook. I don’t remember too many phone calls after that.

The best phone call I ever got from my father was on June 28th, 2011. It was days after my children had lost their father to colon cancer, we were on vacation, my phone rang and it was my father. He wanted to let me know he was going to have surgery the next day for cancer they had found in his colon. Mostly he wanted me to know that he had talked to the hospital chaplain and had made his peace with God. He had surety that no matter the outcome of the surgery, he would be fine. Despite the estranged relationship that I had with my father, it made my heart happy to know that years of prayers for his soul had been answered.

I would like to tell you a wonderful story of how life changed after that, of how my father and I finally connected and how he became a wonderful part of our lives, but none the less, that story doesn’t exist. Life continued to go on and my father wasn’t there. I finally went to college at the age of 44. Graduated at the age of 48 with two degrees. My children had significant birthdays, graduated high school, my daughter had her first child, I got my first career job; so many momentous occassions that we celebrated, but my father wasn’t there, and again, I didn’t miss him. Every few years he would show up at my house, usually in January, tell me how much he had missed me, and hand me $200 “to get the grandkids something.” My mind would always retreat back to the 13-year-old girl standing on my grandmother’s porch, accepting the peace offering that would somehow absolve him of his sins until the next occasion rolled around. Some things seemed to never change.

In January 2019 I was diagnosed with breast cancer. I would spend the next 17 months of my life in active treatment, fighting to overcome the nasty devil of cancer. My father never called or came by, in fact he didn’t even know what I was going through, yet I didn’t miss him. Somehow, he finally found out about my battle and stopped by to see me one afternoon. We talked a little about what I had went through, and he told me he was glad I was okay. I looked into his eyes, searching for some kind of connection between the two of us, but I found nothing.  At the age of 50 I finally realized that my father and I were strangers. He hugged me and left. That was the last time that I saw my father and he would know who I was.

My father was diagnosed with vascular dementia and over the past few years his memory has left him. It is a cruel disease that slowly takes from you what it wants and only allows you to remember what it says that you can. It frustrates you when you are trying to recall a simple word that you have used a thousand times but for the life of you, will not come to your mind. It robs you of your reality and traps you in the prison that it chooses for you. He and his girlfriend of 30ish years both struggled with other health issues, but she still had her wits about her, and along with lots of help from my middle sister, was able to take care of my father for the most part. On Christmas day 2023, his girlfriend suddenly passed away. Not only was my father not able to stay by himself because of the dementia, he was also in the process of moving from a mobile home back to an apartment that was near friends who could help take care of him. Unbeknownst to my father, he was in crisis and needed help.

Over the past couple of weeks, I have spent more time with my father than I have for most of my adult life. I’ve helped my sister pack and clean at his old place, unpack and organize at this new place and I have gone over and sat with him for a few hours at a time so my sister could take care of other things. My father has asked me numerous times my name, where I am from, and where have I lived. We have talked about places that he lived as a child, his parents, brothers and sisters, who sadly he doesn’t realize has passed on, his time in the military, his cats, country music he likes to listen to, his love for Elvis Presley, how he has hitch hiked across the country and when his girlfriend is coming back from California. We have laughed and we have sat in silence, yet not one time have we talked about the fact that he is my father and I am his daughter. We are just those two strangers who just a few short years ago was standing in my kitchen hugging each other, now sharing time together that won’t be recalled.

The word miss can be used as a noun or a verb. As a noun it can mean failure, loss, absence, or defect. Miss as a verb can mean want, feel a loss, crave, desire, long, need, pine for, wish, or yearn. It can also be used in verb form meaning to fail, overlook, disregard, or forget. Today, as I sat in the recliner and watched my father doze on the couch. I realized that all my life I have “missed” my father in some form or fashion. I’m sure there was a time as a young girl that I craved, desired, longed for and yearned for this man to love me, to show his approval, to care for me, to want me. Once he was no longer a part of my young life, the longing turned into forgetting and disregard.

I am not bitter at my father, nor do I have any anger in my heart for the abuse he inflicted upon me. I am no longer a wounded little girl or even a confused young woman who is trapped in the prison of trauma. I have not forgotten what myself, my mother and my siblings had to endure, but I know that freedom and healing has come with age, wisdom and understanding. I now know that my father’s father was an alcoholic, full of rage, who was very cruel and abusive. He made my father’s childhood a living nightmare and beat him into a cruel prison and threw away the key. I have realized that at one point in time, my father loved with the only capacity that he knew how, yet trauma and addiction dominated his life at a much greater capacity. Today this tyrant called dementia rules over his mind and has locked him into another prison that he cannot escape. The hard truth is that he nor I will never know what it is like to connect with one another the way a father and daughter was meant to connect. So, can you miss something that you have never had? I conclude yes, indeed you can, just as I have missed my father.

 
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Posted by on January 8, 2024 in Uncategorized

 

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Anatomy of a Strong Woman

16 Aug

A strong woman. Who is she? How was she made?

Was she born with strength, determination and perseverance?

Or was she formed from necessity?

Forged in the fires of adversity,

Tainted by the sins of others,

Molded through the storms of loneliness and pain.

Was she once a carefree child singing a melody of innocence?

Dancing in the gentle rains of love and joy?

Running with hope and trust to find the strong arms of safety, security and acceptance,

Only to stumble under the iron fists of abuse and disdain?

Was her innocence stolen and traded for shame?

 Was she always “stubborn as a mule” or did her will rise up to form a mighty fortress to surround her fragile heart?

The strong woman, her shoulders squared, structured to carry the heavy loads for herself and others.

Her arms, stout, designed to endure the hardships without giving way, all the while serving as a safe-haven of grace and love.

Her eyes, fixated, discerning, possessing the key to the portals of her soul for anyone who is brave enough to enter.

Her expression, inviting to some, impenetrable to others.

She stands tall like the mighty oak whose roots entrench the earth.

Seasons change and so does she, blooming, bending, letting go, but never breaking.

She is independent, capable, a force to be reckoned with.

Intimidating to those who are weak,

Judged by those who are haughty.

Misunderstood by those who only observe her force.

Recognized by those who have traveled the same trodden path,

Yet, there are moments when being strong is as much of a curse as it is a blessing.

Yes, she can handle her own, however being on her own was never the path she wanted to take.

It was imperative, rise up or die!

When the storms of life rage, the onlookers shout, “You got this, ” “You are so strong,” “You will get through!”

Undoubtedly, she will, she knows no other way.

She will brave the turbulent winds, and trudge through the downpour.

The mirk and the mire may slow her pace,

Nevertheless, she will emerge as the phoenix rising,

Resonating victory in her weary outstretched arms.

All those who depend on her will not be disappointed.

When the clouds break and the light permeates her sky,

She will rest in the presence of the One who is always faithful,

Giving thanks for her breakthrough.

This strong woman, adorned with fortitude, anchored in peace.

Oh! how her heart is full of gratitude!

Her spirit soaring like the majestic eagle!

She is a fighter! She is an overcomer! She is a champion!

Ah, but underneath it all…she is a woman.

Her soul is weary.

She was designed to be the helper not the doer.

To complete, not compete.

To be adored, and cherished,

 Not hidden, pushed to the side, the back or the end.

Night comes to steal away the light.

The silence surrounds her and the tears of exhaustion fall.

Her soul is hungry for the safe haven she desperately needs to come undone,

To repose, reset, and renew.

Her skin craves the gentle touch of companionship that will set her mind at ease.

She doesn’t begrudge being strong, on the contrary, weak women and even weaker men annoy her.

She is just tired of being strong, alone.

She wonders if it is an oxymoron to be strong and fragile all in the same skin?

Why can’t her strength be celebrated? Appreciated but not taken for granted?

Is she too much? Should she be any less than who life has demanded her to become?

As her hands search for another to hold, she drifts into sleep.

When the sun rises over the horizon, and darkness gives way to the morning light,

Again, she rises.

Disciplined to face whatever the new day brings.

She girds herself in grace, welcoming her faithful counterparts of determination, perseverance and tenacity.

The fragrance of hope, kindness and compassion wafts in the air as she passes.

She is who she is and she cannot waiver.

She is the strong woman.

 
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Posted by on August 16, 2023 in Uncategorized

 

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Oh, Sweet Valleys Below…

19 Apr
Atop Mcaffee Knob along the Appalachian Trail, Roanoke VA

Oh sweet valleys below…

So precious to me

Who would I be

Had you not shaped me?

I give thanks

For all that I am

And all that I’m not

For every loss

For every gain

Through the laughter

Through the pain

Warmed with the sunshine

Drenched with the rain

With every step

I have been changed.

Oh sweet valleys below

On this mountain I wonder

I gaze and I ponder

Who would I be

Had you not broke me?

Sometimes choked me

Left me gasping for air

Oh deep despair!

You Defined. Refined. Sublimed.

Oh sweet valleys below

You are my treasure

My measure, my pleasure

Without you I would never be

All of me

Risen. Redeemed. And Free.

Oh sweet valleys below…

 
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Posted by on April 19, 2022 in Uncategorized

 

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The Rebellious Boob Chronicles – One with the River

12 Oct

Recently I had the opportunity to attend a cancer recovery retreat in the Lake Logan North Carolina area hosted by Casting Carolinas. Casting Carolinas is a non-profit organization that offers one-day and three-day retreats for women surviving all types of cancers. They use their own unique F.L.O.W. program that combines fly fishing instruction with medical education and mindfulness, teaching survivors skills to help them deal more effectively with the emotional effects of cancer and survivorship. 

To say that I was extremely excited for the retreat is a gross understatement. I had originally been chosen to attend in October 2020, but due to unforeseen circumstances of a pandemic, the retreat had to be cancelled indefinitely. Sigh. I would remain on the waiting list to be contacted when things opened back up. When the email came through in June stating they were opening up registration again for an October 2021 retreat, I was so thrilled that I set an alarm to remind myself to sign up first thing! The anticipation over the next few months stirred in my soul as I felt this time away was going to bring many blessings. I am a nurturer at heart and I spend the majority of my time, at work and at home, taking care of others. This 3-day weekend, however, was going to be a time of focusing on me and for once in my life I didn’t feel selfish about that.

The day had finally arrived, the weather forecast for the weekend looked fabulous, I was packed and headed out. I had my windows down, some praise music on, the leaves were already wearing autumn attire and the two hour drive quickly passed. I caught myself smiling from ear to ear as I drove up the gravel road to the retreat center, pulled into a space, took a deep breath, and stepped out of the car to spend 3 days with complete strangers whom I shared a common bond with – survivorship. All of our lives had been uprooted by a cancer diagnosis, some more than once, yet we were all here, ready to embrace what was in store for us.

Laughter and peace permeated the atmosphere as I stepped up on the porch of the cabin. I was greeted by several volunteers that made me feel welcomed immediately and directed me inside to the registration table. All the ladies that hosted and served at the retreat were so full of life, joy and friendliness and made you feel at home immediately.  Once I checked in I was to come back outside and be fitted for my river waders and boots for the fishing trip on Sunday! Wait. A River. Moving water. Insert anxiety. Was I ready for this part?

My mind wandered back many years, to a moment in time that had forever seared itself into my brain. I was 6 or 7, at the lake with my family and my father was trying to teach me to swim. He stood at a distance, chest deep in water, swearing to me that it wasn’t over my head, and promising that if I started to go under, he would save me. Little did I know he was standing on a stump that lifted him up a good 3 feet.  I attempted to swim, face down in the water, arms stroking back and forth. I was making some progress but suddenly, I began to sink. The water overtook me, I was thrashing left and right, eyes wide open, surrounded by the murky water and bubbles created by the oxygen that was leaving my lungs. My feet desperately searched for the bottom and it was nowhere to be found. I screamed but no sound came out, only gulps of water rushing into my mouth. Where was my father? I needed him to save me! Whether this lasted 5 seconds or 5000 years, for me it felt like an eternity and  I just knew at that moment I was drowning. Finally, a hand reached down and pulled me out of what I thought was a near death experience, and as soon as my feet could touch ground, I ran out of the water, coughing, spewing out water, and terrified. I sat there on the shore crying, wanting a hug or reassurance that I was okay, yet what I got was belittling laughter. I was a worthless crybaby, a chicken, a coward, a sissy. My dad demanded that I get back in the water but all I wanted was to run away in fear and I didn’t care what kind of punishment I would get for refusing his demands. A whipping would be better than dying, right?

From that moment water became my enemy and at the age of 51, I still cannot swim. I can climb a 500-foot mountain, stand on death defying cliff edges, leap a tall building in a single bound – okay maybe not that extreme – but I can handle getting my feet wet in stream crossings. However, if the adventure involves any part of my body above my knees being immersed in water, you can guarantee that anxiety rushes in. There I stood on the front porch of the cabin, getting fit for boots and river waders and in two days, I would be standing in a mighty rushing river holding a fly-fishing rod. Oh Lord, what had I gotten myself in to?

The next couple of days were amazing! The heart of the retreat is a mindfulness program developed by the hosts of Casting Carolinas, called F.L.O.W. It focuses on taking a deep breath, calming your spirit and being aware of what is going on with your thoughts, emotions and reactions. We had several group sessions where we all came together and spent time connecting with ourselves and each other, learning, and growing. We shared lots of laughter, life experiences, and shed heartfelt tears. I felt incredibly honored to be in the midst of so many strong and powerful women. We also spent time learning about fly fishing! We learned about the river and the different aspects of it. What kind of insects the fish eat. How to put a fly-fishing rod and reel together, tie on the flies, and how to cast. We even got to make our own flies! Saturday evening, we were entertained with a time of live music, dancing and singing, oh and not to mention that we ate so much delicious food I thought I would bust.  My heart was overflowing with joy and gratefulness as I laid my head down on the pillow Saturday night, closing my eyes in anticipation of Sunday morning’s river adventure. All that we had learned about fly fishing would be put into action as each woman would have their own guide and get to spend almost four hours on the river fishing.

The sun rose quickly the next morning, and decked out in our boots and waders, we all gathered at the cabin for a closing ceremony. Whew, what an emotional hour! 🙂  We then made our way to the dining hall for breakfast and to meet our guides. My guide for the day would be Rick, an experienced fisherman who cut his teeth fishing in the Gunnison Valley of Colorado. We enjoyed small talk over bacon and eggs, got group pictures and then headed out to the Pigeon River to hopefully catch some fish! As we made our way down to the river and stepped in, I was entranced by the melody of the moving water. Rick took some time to educate me on a few things, observe my newly learned casting skills, find a nice spot to steady ourselves and then it was time to fish. I admit it was awkward at first feeling the difference between fishing with a spin cast and spinning reel versus the fly rod. I was used to having weights on my line and the fly-fishing line seemed weightless. After a bit of practice, I got the hang of it and I was casting, getting bites, losing fish, and yes, I finally caught some.

My catches included a brook trout, a rainbow trout and a brown trout, which earned me the badge of what fishermen call a “grand slam,” catching one of each type of trout.  Go Christy! It was so fun being played by the fish. The water was crystal clear, you could see them just hanging out underwater and watching as my fly would float downstream right in front of them. Then those little buggers would jump right out of the water in front of you just to show you who was the real boss! As we were walking upstream to fish in another spot, I noticed a brook trout hanging out in a little pocket of water to the left of the river. I said to my guide, “hey, there’s a fish right here!” He said, “see if you can catch it?” I said, “with my bare hands?” Yes! So, I took a deep breath, raised my hands in the air and breathed out, “I am one with the river.” I was being silly, but hey it worked! I knelt down, slowly put my hands in the water and very gently eased them under the belly of the fish and bingo! I raised him right up out of the water! My guide let out a huge belly laugh and I was proud to be his first student to catch a trout with their bare hands!

As fun as it was catching the fish, my favorite part of the day was reading the river. I loved observing how the different sections flowed at different speeds. I learned what lanes were and began to identify riffles, eddies and pockets. I discovered that you begin fishing the river in front of you and slowly progress across the stream so that you don’t spook the fish. At one point I even told my guide that he was more than welcome to fish while I just stood in the river being mesmerized. For the professional record…he did not fish! :). At one point I was standing in moving water that was almost chest deep and I could feel the weight of the current against me. Wait, I was standing in water ALMOST CHEST DEEP!  I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and realized that for the first time in my life I was surrounded by water and my mind was not consumed with anxiety.  In fact, all morning I had not given one thought to anything other than the delight I was feeling as the river had wooed me like a new suitor and captured my undivided attention. 

Twelve thirty rolled around quickly and it was time to head back to the dining hall for lunch, our graduation ceremony, to tell our fishing stories, say our heartfelt goodbyes and head back home. Some folks had caught tons of fish, others a few, one had caught waders full of water as she took a tumble, and me, yep I told the story of how I caught that brook trout with my bare hands! The weekend had written so many great stories yet I knew that the greatest story of all was that, on this wonderful Sunday morning in October, I was no longer a terrified little girl, a crybaby, worthless and a coward. I was also a strong, powerful woman, and in those few passing hours I had made a new friend and the river and I had truly become one.

 
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Posted by on October 12, 2021 in breast cancer, Uncategorized

 

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The Rebellious Boob Chronicles: A Year Ago Today…

10 Jan

twin towers

(I dedicate this blog to my dear friend and soul sister Brooke West who took me to all of my doctor visits, who sat with me through every minute of chemotherapy, who endured me on steroids…whoa! who laughed, cried and prayed with me, and who sent me the most powerful text message early one late December morning that inspired these words.)

They say time flies when you are having fun. I say time has a way of creeping by and flying by all at the same time whether you are having fun or not. It is hard to believe that just one year ago today I was getting ready to embark on the most challenging personal journey I have ever faced in my life. I have definitely been through some rough times in my 49 years, heck my early childhood was enough to make anyone tremble a little (but that is another blog for another time). I have lost family, friends, a marriage, a spouse. I have had my heart broke by people who were supposed to be my friend. My family has experienced the tragedy of senseless violence, we have suffered the consequences of not-always-the-smartest choices (a nice way of saying I have done some stupid stuff in my life!), and we have had the proverbial rug pulled out from under us on many occasions. I could go on and on, but I think you catch my drift that life hasn’t always been a piece of cake. The hard times have shaped me and my faith has produced a stubborn resilience that refuses to let the hardships get the best of me! However, in January of 2019, life was getting ready to throw me a hefty kick to the gut, on the most personal level, which would require me to dig deep, trust wholeheartedly in my faith and endure with the strongest determination I could muster up.

On November 21st, 2018 I went for my yearly mammogram. After receiving a bad scare in 2015 and having to go have a diagnostic mammogram and ultra sound to determine density in my right breast, I had kept up my mammograms on a regular basis regardless of the fact that I didn’t have health insurance for years (kudos to the local health department for a grant that covered mammograms for uninsured women). On November 28th I went for a complete physical with my primary care physician. I hadn’t had one of those in years and felt it was a smart move since I now had health insurance that covered such things, and I hadn’t been feeling quite like myself here and there. The good news is that my physical results were fabulous! All of my blood work came back perfect and my doctor said I was one of the healthiest women she knew. The bad news is my mammogram came back showing some questionable areas in my right breast, and once again, a diagnostic mammogram and ultra sound was ordered. I would like to say that I was as calm as a cucumber, but I won’t even try to downplay the fear that ravishes a woman’s heart when she is told further tests need to be done. Not to mention that over the course of 2018 I had noticed a change in the pea size mass that was diagnosed as density in 2015. It was now about the size of a nickel but according to google it was nothing, (seriously, of course I googled it!!) but deep down inside, I was scared. On January 3rd 2019, I went in for my testing. It wasn’t anything I was unfamiliar with, but this time the atmosphere seemed a little more intense. The mammographer appeared a little more serious and the ultrasound tech took an extensive amount of time checking out my right side and under my right arm. Finally, she called in the radiologist so that she could sit down with me face to face, eye level to eye level, and tell me ever so gently that it was expedient that I go for a biopsy.

I left the office feeling overwhelmed and as I drove back to work, I cried a little and prayed a lot. My thoughts rushed to my children and I had no I idea how I would tell them that their mother may have breast cancer. I spent the next week praying profusely and diplomatically telling God why I DID NOT need to walk through breast cancer at this time in my life. No just NO! Of course I didn’t want to have to fight the battle, but my reasons weren’t selfish ones, first and foremost I did not want my children to have to suffer through another parent having cancer. Please Lord, not at this time in our lives. Give us a little more time to grow, to heal, to enjoy life. I am strong in my faith and firmly believe that the God I serve can work miracles and remove anything out of my body that He chooses. Yes Lord, work a miracle on my behalf, after all my God moves mountains, right?!?

A year ago today, on January 10th, 2019, I was dreadfully waiting for the sun to rise as I rose out of bed early to get ready to go to my scheduled biopsy. One of my most dear friends and soul sister’s was taking me so that I didn’t have to go alone. I made my coffee, read my devotion, prayed and again recited to God at what a testimony it would be and how I would so praise Him if He would just remove these freaking lumps in my breast (yep, ultra sound showed two!).  I opened my Facebook and the first thing I saw was a memory from my ‘Dear Christy from God’ letters on January 10, 2018 (exactly one year prior) that said:

“Dear Christy, when I choose not to move the mountain, then what?” ~God~.

I knew in that moment what the outcome of the biopsy would be before they ever pierced my skin. I knew in that moment that my life and my children’s lives were getting ready to change drastically. I honestly didn’t know what all it would involve, but I knew from this moment on that my life would be on a different time table – you know, like how we measure time as BC (before Christ) and AD (anno domini – the year of our Lord) – now for me it would be “before I got breast cancer” and “after I survived breast cancer.” I sighed deeply and read the memory again:

Dear Christy, when I choose not to move the mountain, then what? ~God~.
Dear God, well, I guess we climb the dang mountain, that’s what. ~Christy~

And that is exactly what we did.

It took eight viciously long days for the doctor to call and ask me to come in for my results. Tom Petty nailed it on the head when he said “the waiting is the hardest part!” My dear friend and soul sister went with me to hear the results and we all had to chuckle a little as my doctor recited again that I was one of the healthiest women she knew…but…the biopsy showed that I had breast cancer.  My first reaction was “well hell” and after listening to what the next few weeks of my life would be like with all the doctor visits they would line up for me, Brooke and I both agreed on one thing; My God, the one in whom I believe in and love wholeheartedly, the one who loves me more than I can imagine, the one who flung the starts into place and measured the depths of the seas in the palm of his hand, the One who is good all the time, He was not at all surprised by this diagnosis. The bargaining was over, the course had been set and if He wasn’t going to move the mountain, then in no uncertain terms He was going to have to show up and help me climb it. On this side of the battle I can say that not only did God show up, but He showed out!

I have spent the past year of my life climbing this mountain called breast cancer. I have gone through two port surgeries, 5 months of chemotherapy, a double mastectomy, 25 radiation treatments, and reconstructive surgery. I lost my hair, my dignity, my hot, muscular beast of a body I had worked so hard for (okay, maybe I wasn’t so hot to start with but it’s my story and I’m sticking to it! J). My battle isn’t quite over yet as I am still doing immunotherapy infusions every three weeks. I am getting ready to take a preventative pill for a year and then another preventative pill for five years. Hopefully I will only have one more surgery left to complete reconstruction. All in all, it is safe to say that it has been a wing-dinger of a year! I have felt strong and I have felt weak. I have felt empowered and I have felt helpless. I have been brave and I have been scared. I have been challenged physically, mentally and emotionally. I can say that being on this side of the battle feels much better than where I was one year ago and, despite all of the losses and struggles,  I have experienced some pretty awesome things through all of the madness. I have been surrounded by the most wonderful support system of family and friends, saturated in prayers and positive thoughts by a countless number of people and received more acts of kindness than I deserve. I have met some of the most precious folks along the way who had fought this same battle, strangers who became friends almost instantly because of the special bond we share. In the best of times and in the worst of times, I know without a doubt, that I have not been alone in this struggle for one single minute.

By the grace of my Almighty God, I was not only able to continue to work full time, I was also able to do my job with a passionate fervor and reach and exceed the goals that were set before me. I have traveled to more states this year than I have in all my life and I have watched the sun rise and set on the east coast and the west coast. I was able to experience a sweet beach vacation and a grandiose out west adventure, celebrating my 50th birthday watching the sun come up over the Mesa Arch in Canyonlands, Utah. In the midst of fighting cancer, I logged 3,284,177 steps and I was on the trail 83 days, only missing  a handful of adventures due to treatments and side effects. The most difficult year of my life has also been the most glorious of adventures! And I give all praise, honor and glory to the God in whom I gave my heart to so many years ago. His joy IS my strength!

Some would argue that if He was such a good God, why didn’t He move the mountain like I had begged him too? Oh my, as I type this I shudder at the things I would have missed if He would have done things my way. Am I saying that I am thankful for cancer? NEGATIVE GHOSTRIDER! However,  had I not walked this journey, I would have missed the recognition of His mighty hand weaving the strands of my life and guiding my every step. In 2012 God sparked a desire in me for the outdoors, and after my first hike in June 2013, a passion for hiking and adventure was birthed in my soul. I can name 3 things that tried to divert my passion through the years, but God in His goodness would always just redirect my steps and lead me to another place til eventually I found my Tribe. From 2016 through 2018 I spent weekend after weekend on the trail and with each step God was with me, honing my heart for maximum strength, honing muscle and sinew to perfection, building up every aspect of my body, strengthening my mind. healing my soul, and preparing me for a battle that would inevitably attack it all. He knew that on January 18, 2019 when I received the news that I had breast cancer that I would need to be in the best physical, mental and spiritual shape that I had ever been in to endure and come out victorious. Insert that I worked for 13 years without health insurance, and in August 2018 I was hired at my new job that offers incredible benefits, my health insurance kicked in on October 1, just 3 short months before my diagnosis.

A year ago today breast cancer was my diagnosis but it was never my destiny! It is just a path to another purpose and I hold fast to the peace, joy and thanksgiving that fill my soul. Today, on January 10, 2020 I open my eyes to a new day, a new year, a new decade and I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I am better, much better than I was…a year ago today.

 
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Posted by on January 10, 2020 in breast cancer

 

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The Rebellious Boob Chronicles: My Journey, in Poetry, through the Eyes of a Friend

19 Jul

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If there is one thing that I am blessed with in life, it is the treasure of great family and friends! There is no way that I would have ever been able to make it this far in my journey of life as a whole, much less this adventure through breast cancer without the love and support of all who surround me. I covet every single gesture of love, support and encouragement, each prayer muttered on my behalf, every phone call, text, message and visit; every single card, note and gift.  I am honored when someone takes a moment to share with me how something I have said or written touches their heart and inspires their soul. Yesterday one of my dear girl friends carved time in her day to come and fellowship with me during my incarceration (aka…recovery time from my double mastectomy surgery – this girl was not made to stay immobile and locked inside! Yikes!) Not only did she bless me with much needed conversation and fellowship, she came bearing gifts. She had a pillow made with the above picture on it and wrote me this poem. WOW! I do not have sufficient words to express how deeply this touched my heart!

This journey has been a mixture of  beautiful roses and ferocious thorns. There have been times when I have felt like a complete and total failure as a woman (it can be challenging to your femininity when you lose your hair, your eyebrows, your eyelashes and your boobs!!), as a mother (what mom can’t take care of her children when THEY are sick??), a momsy (do you know how hard it is to tell your precious grandchildren you don’t feel like playing??), a daughter (I am thankful for a momma who takes care of me no matter what age I am!), a sister (that moment when you can’t muster up the strength to go to a family get together) a companion (ah the adjustments and grace it takes to cater to a sick girlfriend!) and a friend (I am so not used to being on the receiving end of needing help!).  In those moments of struggle, I can be my worst critic while fighting through the darkness and depression. I would think “me, positive? strong? victorious? yeah right! more like exhausted! weak! defeated!”

And then, there are those golden moments, when God sits you down and allows you to look at your self through the eyes of someone else. When He calls for a ‘pause’ in your self criticism and saturates your soul with words of reassurance. A moment that refreshes the core of your being. I share this poem with you,  this priceless gift, written for me and about me. I do a lot of writing and sharing about myself and my journey but what a gift to see myself through the eyes of someone else. As I heard the words, I sat in awe, speechless, and weeping at the goodness of a caring God and the obedience of a loving friend who was willing to be a conduit of His grace. I sat with my heart overflowing with thankfulness for those intimate moments shared between two women, with our hearts laid bare before each other. I sat there blessed, refreshed and renewed.

By Joyce Weldon, my dear friend and anointed poet

She knew her cancer would be like risking a difficult climb.
After all she was a mountain thinker
Not a valley sinker.
Her thoughts were used to soaring to new heights
She knew the value to flee or to take flight.

Now will this journey choose for her the mountain of the small place?
Will she just be satisfied with the fertile lowlands, plushes,
ready-made she face?
Throughout life she had been a friend of struggle
Maybe every once in a while to have with it a few snuggles.

But even in her broken body she continued to smile
Instead of looking back toward the valley she looked upward to the mountain with a whisper, “in a little while.”
Thinking small was not her style.
No small dreams.
No small outlook.
No small aspirations.
No small faith and no small vision.
Just a new decision.

She took the flavor of God’s spirit enhanced
Whatever lives it touches from the depth of her mind to the depths of her soul.
She let it go.

From the perspective of the heights
She gave cancer new sight
No matter the outcome to remain in steadfast, unyielding,
Unmovable, unshakable, and useful for flavoring other lives
That be sprinkled into the world cries.
In the shadow of the mountain where bushes once burned
And voices thundered and the finger of God was carved in granite
the direction of where freedom lies.

Life lives…

July 18 2019

 
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Posted by on July 19, 2019 in Uncategorized

 

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The Rebellious Boob Chronicles: Chemotherapy Round 4 – Me versus the Brick Wall

29 May

Round 4 of chemotherapy got off to a smooth start. The Thursday afterwards I was feeling energized and the sun was shining, so after work I decided to work out in my yard weeding, blowing leaves and mowing. I was supposed to wait on my son to get home to help me, however being the ambitious soul that I am, I began without him. It felt so good to be outside being active that I got carried away. I worked for 3 ½ hours and even proceeded to mow my front yard (at sloth speed I might add!) but nevertheless I got it done and felt quite accomplished.

Friday came and I was a little tired but still felt pretty good so I headed to North Carolina for a weekend of adventures. Saturday morning was a different story. We had a hike planned and I was excited to get out before the rain settled in. Our destination was English Falls, a short but moderately strenuous pull back out of the falls. I had done it once before and knew it would be a small challenge but nothing that I couldn’t handle. As I was getting ready that morning, I felt tired and struggled with standing long enough to get dressed and ready. My ambitious heart once again threw caution to the wind and urged me to proceed. We got to the trailhead and as we headed down the steep trail to the fall, I sensed that I was in a little bit of trouble. My legs were becoming very fatigued and I had to even stop a couple of times heading down. The coming back out of there was a complete struggle! What should have taken a quick 15 to 20 minutes became double that and there were moments I found myself getting as low to the ground as possible and almost crawling out. My legs were on the verge of completely rebelling against me, my heart felt like it would explode out of my chest and I became very dizzy each time I stood straight up. Suddenly concern was on high alert yet I was bound and determined to make it up out of there and not become the chemo poster child for the next Search and Rescue call!

When I finally made it to the guardrail at the top of the trailhead, my body went into complete rebellion. I slumped over and dry heaved for several minutes before I could make the short distance to the truck to fall into the front seat. Whew! What was I thinking? I just knew however, that after a bite to eat, I would feel fine again…hahahaha! For the rest of the evening I was completely useless. The recliner and I became best friends and I lay for hours doing absolutely nothing. Easter Sunday morning came and I had to drive back home from North Carolina to make dinner for my family, which I was highly looking forward to! The hour and a half drive that I have done hundreds of times before felt like a cross country extravaganza. I had to call a girlfriend and talk to her the entire way just to ensure that I made it home without any mishaps. Changing gears in my car felt like doing 400 pound leg presses. I was exhausted and it wasn’t even noon. When I made it to Kingsport, instead of going straight home, yeah you guessed it, ambition took over and thought it was a great idea to go ahead and head to the grocery store so I wouldn’t have to run back out.

I struggled pushing the buggy, walking around to grab the few items that I needed and I felt faint and self-conscious that everyone I passed could tell I was about to fall in the floor. Suddenly I hit a mammoth size brick wall, I knew I just couldn’t finish the task and I called my youngest daughter and asked her to come to my rescue. In just a few short minutes she and her boyfriend arrived to finish shopping and I went home and straight to bed. My oldest daughter came to the house and they proceeded to prepare the family dinner for me that I was looking so forward to cooking. One of my passions is cooking and hosting my company, but on this particular Easter Sunday, fatigue had overcome me and I could do nothing. 5 o’clock came and I was able to get up and sit like a knot on a log with everyone and fellowship. I felt terrible and could barely even get up and fix a plate of food that I wasn’t going to be able to eat, thanks to chemotherapy mouth. However I felt even more terrible that my family had to see me in such a comatose state! I hadn’t experienced this kind of fatigue since I started treatments! After everyone left, I retreated back to my bed while my daughter and her sweet girlfriend cleaned up my kitchen for me. I got up long enough to spend some time with my David, as he drove from North Carolina to see me, and after he left it was bedtime, again for the umpteenth time that day. I laid there knowing that when Monday morning came, I would feel much better! Insert another hahahahaha!

Come Monday morning, getting up and walking 8 steps to my bathroom felt like an unconquerable task. I was so weak and became dizzy to the point that I didn’t think I would make it back to my room. I was able to manage enough strength to get my youngest son to school but had to come straight back home and lay down again before I could even fix my smoothie for breakfast. Sleep an hour, get up and fix my smoothie. Lay down an hour before I had enough strength to even drink it. Drink it, lay down another hour before I could muster up the strength to shower. Lay back down an hour before I could get dressed and head to the doctor for labs and fluids to see what the world was going on with my body. My oldest son was gracious enough to take the day off work to take me to the doctor or I would have never made the trip on my own. 5 hours at the doctor, labs that showed low potassium and low red blood count, fluids, exhaustion and back home to the old faithful bed. For several days it was a struggle to get up and make it to work only to come straight home and retreat back into my bed. It became a humorous question when my kids would get home and say, ”hey mom, what are you doing?” and my answer was “absolutely nothing!” I am never one to do absolutely nothing! I am use to working until I’m done, not until my body says no. However for several days, my body refused to do much of anything and I had to succumb to the exhaustion and lay down more than I wanted to!

As the week progressed and the weekend came, I began to feel a little better and regain some energy. My appetite started to come back and I was finally able to eat something besides protein shakes and soups. Saturday came and I spent the day taking family pictures for my daughter, prom pictures for my son and then drove to North Carolina to spend the night and attempt a very easy adventure for Sunday. We ended up hiking to the Chimneys and setting up top ropes to do some climbing with our Tribe, however I didn’t even take my climbing equipment. My goal was to set up a hammock, take some pictures and just soak up the spring sun and fresh air.  Let me insert how hard it was to just sit and observe! Inside my ambitious heart was dying to get on the rock, but for once in my life, I listened to my head and not my heart and opted to not exhaust myself and get back in the shape that I had experienced over the last week.

The next week was a great week of recouping and eating all the stuff I had been craving while lying in my bed exhausted and hangry the week before. Work went well, Friday came and I had decided to take a vacation day to enjoy a three day weekend before the next round of chemical warfare. I was able to enjoy a day of climbing, a Saturday of waterfall chasing and a Sunday hike on one of my favorite trails. It was an adjustment for my mind to follow the much slower pace that my body demanded, but I am determined to continue to not only seek my healing through the chemicals I am relying on to zap the cancer cells, but to also continue saturating my soul in the healing powers of nature that I have grown so fondly of over the past several years. In order to do that, it is necessary for me to listen to my body, to slow down, and to succumb to the rest that is beckoning me. I have to be wise on how I spend my energy, knowing that it is limited. It isn’t easy by any means so I face the battle with prayer for my mindset and to not begrudge that rest that my body desperately needs. No matter how weary my body grows, and how big the wall seems at times, I must keep my eyes on the prize of being cancer free and remind myself that one day soon, I’ll be better than I am at this moment.

Up next…round 5.

April 15, 2019

 
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Posted by on May 29, 2019 in Uncategorized

 

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I Am Not Afraid

14 Jul

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I am not afraid of change,
mistakes or failure
But I am afraid of giving up and not trying
I am not afraid of climbing high
or crawling low
even if it makes me tremble inside
But I am afraid of letting fears control my life
of constraining me
of making my soul grow stagnate
I am not afraid of being bold
adventurous, silly
Of pushing the limits
to live life to the full
But I am afraid of the mundane,
Of not putting forth an effort
Of lying down at night feeling empty and stale
I am not afraid of being alone
But I am afraid of being somewhere
that isn’t right for me
of losing myself because others don’t approve
I am not afraid of silence or solitude
those moments with just me and my thoughts
But I am afraid of being in
the midst of company and
feeling lonely, inadequate
unheard and insignificant
I am not afraid of love
of heartache or of pain
Of losing and starting over again
But I am afraid of growing cold and bitter and weary in a world that takes so much and gives so little
I am not afraid of adversity
difficult times or the storm
But I am afraid of the parched pale sky
That never gives me an opportunity
to dance in the rain
I am not afraid of the passion burning inside of me
Nor that you may never understand it
or embrace it
But I am afraid of never fanning the flames
Of letting the embers fade to ashes
that quickly blow away
I am not afraid of being me
or of you not liking it
but I am afraid of looking in the mirror
and loathing what I see
I am not afraid of being human, finite
of some day coming to an end
But I am afraid of dying inside
while there is still blood in my veins
I am not afraid to face my fears
To challenge them
To conquer them
To allow them to make me better
Of that I am not afraid

(picture credit: Brandi Baldwin taken on the MST in the beautiful Chimneys of the Linville Gorge)

 
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Posted by on July 14, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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