Gifts
Every three months I am given a gift. And not just because my scans showed no tumor growth.
As I enter the cancer hospital in Houston, all the insignificant daily hassles of life are left outside the door. As I sit silently in a drab green gown in a cold, sterile room anxiously staring at the door handle for any movement, I feel like an innocent person on trial awaiting a jury deliberation. For once that door opens, I will learn my fate. Will this be the final chapter in my book of life? Those minutes seem to last for hours.
Though tortuous, those moments frozen with fear are also a gift, because they are a reminder for me. A reminder of what is important in life. As I look at the people by my side, who have traveled all this way just to sit here with me, who are just as scared as I am, my heart swells. As I think about all the people waiting anxiously for their phones to ring, to hear the results of my scans, I am overwhelmed. Overwhelmed with gratitude. Overwhelmed with love.
As I sit facing my mortality, I am not thinking about the trivial day to day pressures. Instead, I am simply thinking about those I love and those who love me.
Love,
Jen
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