Because a life unexamined is lived without intention.
Friday, July 12, 2013
The tumult of summer storms has blown through, leaving last night's window fans to fill the house with rain-washed air and tracing chills down my bare arms this morning as I stand in the kitchen contemplating the nine and ten foot branches now lying in our backyard. Such a powerful thing, invisible wind. The lip of the porcelain sink is cool beneath my fingers, I wait for the coffee to finish. Voices murmur from the radio. I pause...
"What was the hardest thing about my cancer for you, Daddy?"
"Seeing you there, so swollen, so many tubes connected to you...."
She'd had bone cancer. Her ten year-old voice strong and sweet now, filling the room with a nearly inaudible whisper of victory. The tremble in his makes my heart stop. Those thoughts that your mind skitters away from, an agonizing flame of a fear too terrible to even touch upon. Parenthood is the ultimate state of vulnerability.
You could hear the smile on her lips though, as she remembered one of her favorite things. He would buy tattoo pens at the gift store...
And turn her scars into a garden.
The long one that ran from her sternum to her pelvic bone became the stem for roses, her favorite flower. The one from her feeding tube, a butterfly. He drew over the monsters. He drew her beautiful.
Standing there, tears sliding down my cheek...so convicted. Every life has joy and pain. Some more so than others. But the secret is in the ink of us. How we approach and confront and forgive and leave behind the monsters.