This is the month I watch closely. Leaves fall and scatter. I watch how they turn from yellow to red to fallen then swept, and then gone. Their cascading always reminds me. I anticipate a new season.
The falling leaves remind me of this month, 16 years ago.
I awaited the birth of my daughter and the treatment of the cancer that had taken up residence in the space that was supposed to belong to only her. Death and life had invaded. Me.
I faced cancer in autumn and winter.
The falling leaves remind me of this month, 16 years ago.
I awaited the birth of my daughter and the treatment of the cancer that had taken up residence in the space that was supposed to belong to only her. Death and life had invaded. Me.
I faced cancer in autumn and winter.
If I haven’t told you our story, I’d like to now… because scars are what faith is made of. —————————————-
The scar is long and vertical, down my middle.
27 staple-marks still divide me there. The cancer was on my ovary. I was 29 years old and 8 months pregnant. Cancer was removed, and my daughter stayed a bit longer. I gave birth to Shelby on Christmas Day, when the pain and scars were 10 days fresh.
In the winter, just after the leaves had left all the Georgia trees, I became acquainted with my daughter. She shared a birthday with Jesus. My cancer treatment began the next day. My husband had the toughest job: sharing time between the NICU and ICU. His wife and daughter both struggling. He remains our hero.
I lived the winter and spring of that year becoming a new mom, decorating the nursery, and wondering if I needed music for my funeral. I researched the effects of being unable to breastfeed my newborn daughter.
I watched her begin to smile. I watched my hair fall out. Chemotherapy was my companion.
During the night I lifted bottles to feed her. During the day nurses lifted iv bags of cysplatin to kill the cancer that lurked inside me.
They were brutal, beautiful winter days. The scars down my middle and in my expectations of how I would become a mom defined me for awhile.
The physical places have healed, mostly. I still limp a bit in my heart.
——————- The falling leaves remind me of this season. They remind me that I don’t believe in coincidences. And yes, I believe in miracles.
Amy Grant’s newest song is a lullaby to me. She reaffirms, as I glance at this girl of mine who is strong and sacred and born of scars~ You are Lovely. We are lovely. Even with our scars.
All of us.
“He gave you His love and He’s not leaving He gave you His Son so you’d believe it. You’re lovely even with your scars.” ~Amy Grant
The scar is long and vertical, down my middle.
27 staple-marks still divide me there. The cancer was on my ovary. I was 29 years old and 8 months pregnant. Cancer was removed, and my daughter stayed a bit longer. I gave birth to Shelby on Christmas Day, when the pain and scars were 10 days fresh.
In the winter, just after the leaves had left all the Georgia trees, I became acquainted with my daughter. She shared a birthday with Jesus. My cancer treatment began the next day. My husband had the toughest job: sharing time between the NICU and ICU. His wife and daughter both struggling. He remains our hero.
I lived the winter and spring of that year becoming a new mom, decorating the nursery, and wondering if I needed music for my funeral. I researched the effects of being unable to breastfeed my newborn daughter.
I watched her begin to smile. I watched my hair fall out. Chemotherapy was my companion.
During the night I lifted bottles to feed her. During the day nurses lifted iv bags of cysplatin to kill the cancer that lurked inside me.
They were brutal, beautiful winter days. The scars down my middle and in my expectations of how I would become a mom defined me for awhile.
The physical places have healed, mostly. I still limp a bit in my heart.
——————- The falling leaves remind me of this season. They remind me that I don’t believe in coincidences. And yes, I believe in miracles.
Amy Grant’s newest song is a lullaby to me. She reaffirms, as I glance at this girl of mine who is strong and sacred and born of scars~ You are Lovely. We are lovely. Even with our scars.
All of us.
“He gave you His love and He’s not leaving He gave you His Son so you’d believe it. You’re lovely even with your scars.” ~Amy Grant
