one before me.....

There have been a lot of dark hallways, murky waters and scary, shadowy monsters in this whole process of jumping feet first into the "you are sick" arena......

Some days I am almost out of body, with the jostling, poking, meandering down endless hallways on my way to my next destination.

Sometimes, I hear a doctor talking to me and I look up and see past him a dark hallway, and at the end of that dark hallway I see a shadowy, light figure farther along, walking, half turning, motioning me to come along.

I see her whispery thin, sometimes leaning to one side the slightest bit while she walks ahead, and yet I see her motioning me to keep moving along.

One that I held so dear has walked this path before me.

One that I held dear had to look at possible disfigurement long before me; this one so young looked at having her hair shaved; she sat on an exam table before me not knowing if she would walk away whole after a terrifying surgery. She has walked those dark hallways before me, and I see her shadow beckoning me now in the hallways of that same hospital...

*****

Three months ago I was at my daughter Kristi's house, holding sweet little 10-month-old Baby Bird - and I commented while stroking her - "this is how old Amelia was when Heidi found out she had a tumor in her brain".

We both stopped talking. And Kristi said "yeah, I've thought about that a lot lately".

*****

It was such a difficult time - a young mother with an active toddler, and a baby a whole 10 months old - and she had a tumor in her brain that had to come out.

Life stopped for all of us.

There were no guarantees, but lots of hope. She could come out of the surgery facially scarred for life. She could come out of the surgery not able to walk well. She could come out of the surgery with substantial hearing loss.

She could come out of the surgery different than when she went in.

She has walked these dark hallways before me. Bravely. And I catch glimpses of her all the time - when they tell me it will be time to shave my hair; she looked at the same mirror. When they tell me my diet has to radically change, she changed her kitchen contents in one day. When they tell me my body will be different - she tucked that same fear deep inside somewhere; when they tell me how they will cut to the best of their ability, and do as little harm as possible with a big problem - she has sat alone on a cold exam table and heard this before me.

I wept daily for her, although I tried to be strength for her. She was strong, but it is so hard to look such things in the face when that young. Let alone when that old.

Some days while I am at the hospital I think of her and her courage and know I can do no less.

I stayed with them after the surgery and I marveled at her weak strength -- I could not keep her down. She looked a shadow of herself, weak and hurting, but she insisted on getting up and living her life. She has had a difficult but remarkable recovery. She is walking without a balance nerve. She is working with migraines weekly. She is so sore and tender some days she can barely move her arms. But she got up and got living fast. She knew she wanted to. She knew she had to.

I didn't know then how she was functioning day to day; and I wonder all the more at it now. I watched the waters almost overtake her, but God and her faith and her grit kept her buoyed above.

Sometimes when I see her shadow in the hospital, I wave a little, smile a little and remember that there is a God who gives hope and healing. I marvel at her two happy wee ones, jumping and laughing and playing and delighting in life.

She did all that. I pray I do it as well.