After my first marriage broke up long ago, I attended a support group where we had to draw a picture of a place where we felt safe when we were children. I drew a picture of my Grandma’s house in rural Alberta where I used to spend part of my summers.
This was a lazy rose-coloured time, spent reading my Grandma’s condensed Reader’s Digest books in the gazebo down by the apple tree and eating beef dips at the Woodward’s restaurant on our shopping trips to the big city of Red Deer. My Grandma and I had the same size feet and she used to lend me shoes out of her extensive shoe collection. The smell of homemade bread still brings me back to her kitchen. When I got back home, we became pen pals, sending each other long hand-written letters.
I loved my Grandma a lot and she loved me back, fiercely and unconditionally. She left this Earth three years ago, and I wrote about her here.
Lately, I feel as if I have nothing profound to say. I’ve become still and quiet, withdrawn and incapable of the simplest chit-chat. My radiation treatments ended one month ago and my poor beleaguered left boob is healing. I’m still fatigued and need a nap every day to make it into the evening.
I’ve dubbed this as my summer for healing. Cancer really messed up my mind, spirit and body. Somebody said cancer is a mind-f*ck and I’d whole-heartedly concur.
But. I’ve signed up for a two day workshop this week at a local cancer support centre. I found a lovely therapist who once had cancer too. I’ve also been thinking about my Grandma often because my memories of her give me great comfort. When a friend shared Macklemore’s new video Glorious, the images of his own grandma along with the lyrics dissolved me into tears. My daughter says: Macklemore: the only rapper to make moms cry.
I feel glorious, glorious
Got a chance to start again
I was born for this, born for this
It’s who I am, how could I forget?
I made it through the darkest part of the night
And now I see the sunrise
Now I feel glorious, glorious
I feel glorious, glorious.
Now I don’t feel glorious at all. I still haven’t found that freaking silver lining. But sometimes, when I’m with my husband and my kids, I feel a little glimmer of happy. It zaps through me and then it is gone. I am hoping that glimmer is how the glorious will begin.