I spent some quality time in my garden this morning. My garden is not so much a place to do, but a place to think. I thought about the flowers as I prune them back, trimming off the dead ones so new buds might bloom. It seems a shame to cut off a flower just after it blooms. With a good dose of guilt, I added some weed killer to my soil. I seriously dislike the idea of a weed killer, but I truly hate weeds. I offered my apologies to the environment. Yesterday, I added some cancer killer, round three hundred it seems of chemotherapy, to my body. I hate cancer even more than I hate weeds.
As I water the flowers, I think of the trail of tears that seem to be following me lately. I am blessed with a number of concerned friends who cry for me since this latest season of cancer in bloom. If only tears shed could bring new life the way this garden hose will do for my plants. I both comfort and take comfort in my worried friends. I tell them it’s okay. I remind myself that we are all going through this together. I assure them, and myself, that I’ll fight this time just like I did all the other times before. This is my path, mine and everyone on it with me, my friends, my family, my dear children. I’ll walk it with dignity, courage and hope.
The morning pours on and I weed, I water, I weep and I worry. I pray for strength. I pray for my girls. I give thanks for flowers and friends that cry. After a while, thoughts of errands to run and what’s for dinner interrupt me, and I gather up the cold coffee I forgot to drink when I came down here and the gardening tools and head on up the yard to the rest of the things I’d like to do today. I leave all the sad and sometimes scary thoughts back there in the garden, lying in the warm soil next to the spent buds I had cut back -all of it, just compost.
This is my beautiful path.
May 20, 2011
About Ronnie Gaubatz