I had this terrifically funny idea in mind to write about the next time I logged in to Ancora Imparo. Emphasis on had. I knew that yesterday would probably not present with a time in which to write where my brain was anywhere near high-functioning, so I gave myself permission to skip a day.
Skipping a day of writing somehow seems like skipping flossing my teeth. Hardly anyone reads these postings anyway - which is fine because I still write to satisfy something deep inside of me. I write to maintain some strand of mental acuity that sharpens my mental response, reaction and readiness timing. I desperately fear losing my mind, one of the most precious and dear belongings God gave to me. Thusly, I had begun crafting a mental rough draft of a witty and timely repose, deciding to build the framework then file the idea, in my head, under SAVE AS.
Capt. SO and I had the privilege of traveling to visit with the Three Musketeers and their parents yesterday. This trip is always a big deal in our grandparent lives. It makes us all warm and fuzzy inside, makes our steps a little lighter, and gives us memories that make us smile for days afterward. Just remembering the children's and parents' voices and hugs is priceless. Shortly before leaving the Three Musketeers' home, I found an email on my phone that brought me up short, as they say, and I shared it with everyone.
The email was from a long-time friend who shared the information that her husband discovered a lump in his abdomen just four days earlier, tests confirmed it needed to be removed, surgery was performed two days later and the dreaded diagnosis of cancer was delivered. Capt. SO and I couldn't get our friends' crisis out of our minds and, times too numerous to mention, we brought them up through the trip home, the evening and this morning. I spoke with our friend last night and she gave us an update on her husband's post-op condition. The two of them are scared, knowing that even though he is getting excellent medical care, there is much uncertainty related to his post-surgical recovery, healing and then the dreaded chemical treatments that will follow.
Our friendship with these two individuals (and their three boys) goes long and deep, even though a job change added three hours of distance in our lives a number of years ago.. Not that this detail makes them any more "special" than people we've known for shorter amounts of time, but it does add a layer of shared experiences, both in the past and more recent years, that brings an element of closeness that distance cannot take away and time does not diminish.
I find our friends on my mind and me on my knees.
Ancora imparo
