Perhaps the loveliest word in the English language.
When I fired up my cell phone on the drive home last night, there was a message from my doctor’s office. Please call them. And of course, they were closed for the day. And didn’t open until 9:00 this morning.
Now, I don’t know about you, but I’ve grown accustomed to receiving good news via snail mail and bad news on the phone. So I put on my game face and went on to Knit Night and said not word one; nor to LittleBit at family prayer this morning; she is our Queen of the Panic Attack. I didn’t call Brother Sushi and ask him to yell at Heaven on my behalf. I did do a lot of thinking, on the drive to work, and maybe a little sniffling.
I have maintained for years that if I ever got cancer, I didn’t want chemotherapy or radiation. I would just quietly put my life in order and enjoy whatever time was left with my family. And I found myself thinking, “But I’m not done dancing, and there is maybe a guy I wouldn’t mind kissing. I sure hope I’m not done kissing. I really liked it. OK, if it’s bad news, then I want my sons-in-law and Brother Sushi and my good home teacher to give me a blessing. And I sure hope that You don’t tell me that I need to have chemo because I need that experience to round out my life.”
And I have other thoughts on the subject, but it is nearly midnight, and I just finished the Stripedy Socks and two viewings of Dan in Real Life [OK movie, soundtrack intrusive], and I am going to bed.
“Benign” is a mighty fine way to end the day.
- Four years into widowhood, after one year of incredible happiness and nearly 14 years of single blessedness. Have given up perfect manicures and pretty hands in order to resume playing the soprano recorder and to see if I can figure out how to play bluegrass banjo. Singing in the shower. Still really, *really* love to knit!