Hope, on a Hill

Last night I attended the opening ceremonies of our local American Cancer Society's Relay for Life. For years, I have wanted to participate in the survivor lap at the beginning of the Relay.

This year, I did it, and it was a very moving experience. When we first arrived, the word "HOPE" made up of luminaries greeted us on the hill in front of the parking lot. That simple word, fraught with so much emotion, brought tears to my eyes before I ever stepped a foot in the survivor tent.

I rolled around the track with a large group of people, all wearing purple shirts emblazoned with the word "SURVIVOR". Even in the victory of the moment, I could not help but be drawn to the luminaries that lined the inside of the track. So many people have fought cancer, and many have lost the battle. It is a terrible scourge on mankind that needs to be cured.

After the Relay, I made it to the pool for a swim. It felt WONDERFUL, as usual. I swam again tonight, with all of our kids who weren't busy elsewhere -- except Eric, who chose to stay in the parking lot. He doesn't like to spend much time with us these days, although he did swim with me last night while Don went to pick up the others from Bible School.

I was thinking about Eric yesterday while I was perusing a copy of "Taste of Chicken Soup for the Mother's Soul" that my chemo angel Lorie sent me (thanks, Lorie!). Several years ago on the day before Mother's Day, when Eric was 11 years old, I gave the kids some money to visit some of our neighborhood's bi-annual garage sales. (They LOVE garage sales, because they can usually charm their way to great bargains.) Eric had already spent his money when he came running back to the house to ask for 50 cents. I gave it to him reluctantly, wondering what additional "necessity" he had found amongst the "junk" in our neighborhood.

When he came home, he presented me with a gift: "Chicken Soup for the Cancer Survivor's Soul". He had bought it two houses up from us in the cul-de-sac, from a woman whose husband had died of cancer. I cried when he gave it to me. I still have the book, tucked into a dresser drawer, to remember that day when he ran all the way home to get two quarters to buy it for me.

And, of course, I am crying now as I tell the story to you.

My family is the reason that I fight so hard to keep life as normal as possible in spite of the cancer. I want them to learn from me that you can not only survive but also TRIUMPH, even when life throws horrible circumstances in your path. I want them to learn about that shining beacon called HOPE that lights up a darkened hillside.

Most of all, no matter what happens, I want them to know how much I love them.