Eileen Loveman Daily Posting

A week had passed and I had still not shared a word of my news with anyone.  For too long I had been the one who stood strong for them; I was not looking for martyrdom, I was just always the Mom.

So too, did the image of my beloved husband’s face loom before me if I had told him of what was going to happen.  The biopsy and the testing, the awful waiting and the tricks your mind can play on you, taking you on a journey to places you really don’t want to go.  He had a big comedy show planned, and there was work to do.  The Red Neck Luau was coming up and 4 of my six children would be coming as well.  My oldest was flying in from Colorado after being away for 4 years with the woman he is to marry, and my youngest was flying in from New York City, herself a survivor of Hodgkins Lymphoma.   We would all be together and it was time to rejoice, not a time of worry and anxiety.

So I said nothing.

But my silence took a toll on my resolve, and the stronger I wanted to be, the more desperate I was becoming.  Short tempered and frustrated, I blamed my bad mood on the heat and the upcoming events.  But I knew that’s not what it was.

My innermost thoughts always told me that God prepared us for our trials, that he didn’t just dump them on us.  He puts people and situations in our path to learn from and to confide in, to pass knowledge on and share the experience with the next one who needs our help.

He had put three women in my life that had Hodgkins before my daughter was diagnosed.  I knew what to expect and how to handle it.

Such is what I felt about those who I had met who had battled and conquered breast cancer. 

He was preparing me, but I wasn't ready.

I went about my days, working in the daytime, writing in the evening, and shopping in between.  It seemed to be the only thing that calmed me, as I excitedly awaited the arrival of my oldest and his true love.

 

But the pressure to be 'unaffected' was getting harder and harder to fake.   

Who could I tell?  Who would understand, and not see the fear on my face or hear it in my voice as I spoke the words.   No matter how many times I picked up the phone to tell someone, I knew there was only one that I could call on. 

I clicked on my email and began a quick short blurb. 

"Dear Teresa....."