Breast Cancer Bites. Kiss My Breast Good-bye.

Breast Cancer Bites. Kiss My Breast Good-bye. I find myself on the merging ramp to a mastectomy and wishing to yield, for just a moment, before this breast becomes a blurred memory in the traffic flow of life. She is the part I must release to protect the whole but she will not go without notice or appreciation for what she held space. There is a body of experience in this sweet breast of mine. She and her sister were late bloomers. No doubt, I got that premature training bra because my mother was tired of fielding questions that always started with a whiny “When???” As intimate partners go, both breasts have been first class beyond their champagne-glass classification. But she is the one that held space over my heart. For that I grieve her loss. I would love to kiss her for all that we’ve gone through together – but she is not that large nor I that agile. Sound strange?
Our bodies are living, breathing temples that hold space for a fusion of body, mind and spirit – from the most elemental level to the most sublimely sacred that life has to offer. And each part speaks to aspects of experience that leave imprints – clues – as to how we maneuver through and integrate events from the significant to the mundane.
From the time she first popped onto the scene, this sweet gal of mine protected my heart from, as well as expressed it to, inexperienced curiosity seekers and seasoned explorers until she found the one who gave her no need to shield and every reason to expand into a union of body, heart and spirit. She is visible, palpable evidence of an evolving woman’s journey into and through the greater portion of womanhood – edging into crone. Granted, she does not hold the life-sustaining importance of a lung or heart but she holds emotion-sustaining space for what works – and what doesn’t – in choices made to love and nurture self and others. Choices for expression, play, creativity, sensation, flirtation, exhibition, pro-creation, courage, pride, compassion – just pull out a dictionary and read on. You will find a piece of her on every page. She never nursed a child but experienced the loss of two miscarriages. She was with me through betrayal, reunion, divorce and death. She was present to those who honored and dishonored her, to those who gave love and withheld love. She registered the difference between body-to-body encounters and body-to-heart lovemaking. Eaten away by cancer, she is not looking particularly attractive by today’s standards but she is beautiful to me, for she kept vigil at the altar of my heart. And she is taking the hit for the cancer of disappointment, grief and good old-fashioned stress. Her final act of nurturing is one of surrender, as she and I hope to contain the damage with her removal. She will be replaced by a re-constructed stand-in, made to mimic her and topped off by a knotted piece of skin and tattooed nipple. (Somewhere, I hear Joni Mitchell singing, “They paved paradise and put up a parking lot ... don’t it always seem to go that you don’t know what you’ve got ‘til its gone?”) Trust me, though I joke, I do not feel flip about this loss – one that rides on the tails of an overlapping grief for Ray, who lost his battle with cancer in March. (See Life. Death. Breast Cancer.) Surely there is a ritual fitting for this part of my body that represents sexuality and sensuality – courtesan and Madonna alike? This part of me that society deems a symbol of my femininity, both object and recipient of pleasure and sensual sensation that now speaks more to the simple pleasures found in life. Right now, it’s hard to register how I will respond when this part of my body is no longer able to feel the hot water from the shower or the itchy sweat from yard work, the pressing purr of one of my kitties or the clutching ache of grief. So much in this world carries on without notice or appreciation – body parts included – until there is a failure or challenge in the system. After which, maybe, we wake up and realize how much we took for granted and strive to correct that with gratitude for what is left. (Kind of like people in our lives.) Is this post self-indulgent? Perhaps. But you know what? I don’t care. Because, by now, I hope you realize that I am also casting light on LIFE and how we race through it – with or without body parts. There are too many precious moments lost in the flip of a calendar. Too many fast good-byes, the depth of which don’t register until it’s too late. This is one good-bye that will not be lost in the blurred shadow of cancer. Indigenous cultures offer rites of passage marking significant transition points – and this gal of mine is going to get one. I don’t know what other women have done to mark the point of life-before and life-after cancer, but would love to hear any stories you are willing to share. And I mean that for any type of cancer or life altering dis-ease. For now, I will savor her, throw her this virtual party (as well as one at the local coffee shop) and kiss her a mindful good-bye. She resisted gravity’s pull pretty darn good. I will strive to do the same without her. For every bit of love that she now hands over to her sister and me – for every woman who lost or is losing this intimate partner, as well as any other – I kiss my breast and yours for what they held space. And, even if all your parts remain intact, take a moment to extend some gratitude with a little self-pampering, sweet ones. Sharing is caring. If you found something here that inspired, you may know someone else who will feel the same. XO  

Messy or Magical: YOU Be the Reason for the Season

Bernadette's Musings from the Messy Room Messy and Magical Holiday Message I find myself off the map this holiday season, alone with my kitties and the “ghosts of Christmas past.” Caught in reflection and releasing attachment to stories that cannot – need not – be revisited, repurposed, or recycled. Being mindful not to compare what my “reason for the season” looks like to those displayed around me. Just quietly aware of the many nuances of human experience beneath all the hustle and bustle, and living with the sense that it is okay for me to be alone this year. That it is, indeed, necessary. There is a freedom that comes in recognizing that there are times when tradition serves us well and other times when it simply does not. This is a “not” year. I am grateful to recognize that and embrace the gifts it has to offer and not grasp for the questionable recreation found in re-creations of the near or distant past. Guess you could say this is a “we three kings disoriented are” holiday. (I am not without a sense of humor. When my GPS is down, I look up.) If you are off the map this holiday season, this is the deal – what I know to be true. First of all, you are not alone. Secondly, whether through tradition or ritual or breaking all the rules of thumb, you are the magic-maker found in every season of your life. So, wherever you are this year, make it count. Love anyway. Laugh anyway. Be present anyway. This may be one of those silent whisper gifting kind of holidays. Find peace with the pieces and joy in the little pleasures found on the fringes of your day-to-day activities. Some years we have to enjoy the trimmings while the gift is "made ready." Those three kings may be disoriented but they do deliver. They look up, too – and they will find you where you are. Be ready to receive. I know I am. Peace be with you this season.

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Footprints in Sand

Forgive it Forward: Follow Those Footprints Zitromax (Zithromax) For Sale, Sometimes it helps to follow in someone’s footsteps – even if only for a short while. For that reason, Ray and I have started this series; a virtual footprint forum for muses with stories, Online Zitromax (Zithromax) without a prescription, ideas and tips that we think worth sharing. We hope your ‘walk’ with them makes your day a little lighter and brighter –and that you leave with something that inspires you to forgive it forward, backward, upward and downward, where can i order Zitromax (Zithromax) without prescription.

This story is being shared under the category of forgiveness as a reminder. In the flurry of day-to-day living, Buy Zitromax (Zithromax) from mexico, it is moments like these, shared between a young boy and his mother, that capture the heart and are worthy of our capacity for memory – not the ones that disappoint. And when someone we love loses their ability to remember, these are the ones that we hold for them as well as ourselves, Zitromax (Zithromax) For Sale. Which is why we found “A Fortune in Dough” by Ray Harwell priceless, Zitromax (Zithromax) pictures. So, sit back and pour yourself a cup of coffee, Buy Zitromax (Zithromax) online cod, or tea if you prefer, and travel back in time with us as we share a precious memory in the making.




GUEST MUSINGS BY: Ray Harwell, Agricultural Research Assistant

“Tell me the story, Momma.” It had been a while since the last time I had asked and I knew that if I asked too often she would say no, is Zitromax (Zithromax) safe. She acted as though she hadn’t heard a word I had said. I stood behind her, Buy generic Zitromax (Zithromax), over near the fireplace, watching as she prepared her work on the breakfast meal. Zitromax (Zithromax) For Sale, I stuck a thumb in my mouth and contemplated whether or not she had, in fact, heard me. This was somewhat dangerous ground. One false move here and there would be no story this morning, Zitromax (Zithromax) steet value. Why, it may even be days if I pushed too hard. Zitromax (Zithromax) no rx, In a flurry of action she had turned on the stove eyes and the oven, gotten stuff out of the fridgedair and had made several trips to and from the sink. I had to act soon, Zitromax (Zithromax) For Sale. Making my way around the table (it was an extremely large table where all members of the family had a designated seat) I saddled up close to her right side. She looked down at me and in those big beautiful brown eyes I could actually see the love pour out and down on me, Zitromax (Zithromax) class.

“Oh, not this morning!” she said turning once again to her work. Taking Zitromax (Zithromax), “Your daddy will be in from the barn soon and I need to have things ready.” It was time for a bold move. Zitromax (Zithromax) For Sale, Removing the thumb from my mouth and wiping it on my shirt, I started tugging on one of the many straight-backed chairs that surrounded that grandest of all tables. I pulled and pushed and pushed and pulled until I had it right up against the cabinet to Momma’s right.  A quick glance assured me this had not caused her to stray from her task. The chair was in place with its back pushed tight against the cabinet and after a brief struggle I found myself in the most perfect place in the whole wide world.

flowers in field

Momma was still acting as if I was nowhere around and this was good, where can i buy Zitromax (Zithromax) online. She pulled open the cabinet door that was directly in front of her and below. From there she retrieved the dough board and sifter, Zitromax (Zithromax) For Sale. In one action she loaded the sifter with the right number of handfuls of flour (White Lily if you please) and placed it on the cabinet in front of her. Zitromax (Zithromax) recreational, I was amazed at how fast she could sift that flour and never let it spill over the sides but land perfectly in the dough board making a mound. Once again she stooped into the lower cabinet and came back up with just the right amount of pure hog lard in her right hand. Those hands of hers were a great mystery to me. Zitromax (Zithromax) For Sale, With those same hands she had rendered the lard that she now rubbed onto flat pans and mixed into the flour. Those hands, Zitromax (Zithromax) duration, that wiped with all tenderness the tears from my eyes, had picked cotton and hoed rows and rows. Zitromax (Zithromax) price, The little finger on her right hand was bent at the second joint and was stiff. I had asked her many times why that was but she would only say she hurt it as a child. I still can not rightly say. Even with that stiff pinky she worked that lard into the flour until it was exactly like she wanted it, Zitromax (Zithromax) For Sale. She made a valley in the middle and poured in the fresh milk a little at a time with her left hand while mixing steady with her right, Zitromax (Zithromax) dosage.

My thumb had once again found my mouth and I leaned in close to her, my head against her hip. Buy Zitromax (Zithromax) online no prescription, Even now when I think of this moment in my life, repeated so often before so many meals, I can still feel her warmth beneath a faded dress. Her smell fills my senses and I find, Zitromax (Zithromax) duration, if only for an instant, that feeling of greatest love and security that can only be that of mother and son, Zitromax (Zithromax) from mexico, the way it was intended to be.

The moment of truth had arrived. Zitromax (Zithromax) For Sale, If Momma were going to tell me the story it would be now. She had kneaded the dough until it suited her and with a pat she pinched off the first biscuit.



“This is Ray on the day he was born.” she said as she rolled the tiny bit of dough in her hands and, patting it flat, laid it onto the greased pan.  “It was one of the hottest days in July.”  The story had begun, buy generic Zitromax (Zithromax).

Pinching off a slightly larger piece and rolling and patting it flat she said, “And this is Ray when he turned one year old.” She placed it in the pan next to the first one and I could see that I had grown in size. Zitromax (Zithromax) alternatives, “This is Ray when he will start first grade and he will learn how to read and write.” Momma said, as she placed this even larger biscuit next in line. “You’ll have lots of fun there and you will be so smart!” she would say. “Who will my teacher be?” I would ask, Zitromax (Zithromax) For Sale. “Will I like her?” “Maybe you will have Miss Thornton or you might have Miss Fleming.” she would reply, Zitromax (Zithromax) recreational. As she answered my questions she was preparing the next biscuit. In like manner, Kjøpe Zitromax (Zithromax) på nett, köpa Zitromax (Zithromax) online, she took me through grammar school and into high school. I noticed the biscuits were now much the same size as her regular ones and she told me that I would continue to grow but not as fast and I wouldn’t notice it as much. Zitromax (Zithromax) For Sale, Sometimes she would tell me of girlfriends I would have, of learning to drive and working on the dairy with Dad. She would usually take me through high school graduation and tell me how proud she was of me for getting through school. Then she would add a slightly smaller pinch of dough and place it on the pan really close to the last in line, order Zitromax (Zithromax) online c.o.d. “And this is the lucky girl that Ray will marry and he will love her very much and she will love him too!” she would say.  “What’s her name?” I would ask.  “That’s for YOU to find out!  You’ll know her when you see her.” was all she would ever say.

On a daily basis Momma made many pan-fulls of biscuits. Usually two, Zitromax (Zithromax) samples, sometimes three, every meal for a long time. I only asked for the story at breakfast and have often wondered why, Zitromax (Zithromax) For Sale. It may be that after the sun was up there were too many other things to hold my attention. It may well have been because that was the routine and like the cows, Zitromax (Zithromax) interactions, from which we gained our living, I was merely a creature of habit. Zitromax (Zithromax) no prescription, For me, however, it was because that was MY time with Momma. My sister was still asleep; Dad and what brothers were still at home were at the barn milking, comprar en línea Zitromax (Zithromax), comprar Zitromax (Zithromax) baratos. Zitromax (Zithromax) For Sale, There was only the two of us in that small country kitchen as Momma told my fortune in dough and with it gave me insight into phases of life and love and even the heartbreak that would forever be part of me and of us all.

Many years have come and gone and in their goings have taken away many of the memories created so long ago.



 Sunflower CasaDresdenSeveral years ago, as Momma was struggling so valiantly against one of the worst diseases of this world, Zitromax (Zithromax) pics, Alzheimer’s, I was watching her make biscuits. She was eighty-two, I was forty-six, where can i find Zitromax (Zithromax) online. She could still do pretty well. I eased up against her and said, Zitromax (Zithromax) australia, uk, us, usa, “Tell me the story, Momma.” She stopped immediately with her preparation and after a brief moment she looked up at me with those same clear brown eyes of so long ago and smiled at me with a smile that could only have been sent from God. I swear that it warmed me like the sun breaking from behind the clouds on a cool day.  She did not attempt to tell me the story nor was I expecting her to, Zitromax (Zithromax) For Sale. The moment was just that – a moment.
But in that fleeting moment we connected again on that level that was the love of mother and son, buy Zitromax (Zithromax) without a prescription, the way it was intended to be. Time nor disease will ever take away nor change this memory of mine. Generic Zitromax (Zithromax), I will not let it.



My wife and sons and daughter (by the way, all foretold in long ago dough) have heard this story. Zitromax (Zithromax) For Sale, My sister, Faye, has heard this story.  And now you can hear it, too. And with each telling or reading or remembrance time is rendered impotent in its abilities to steal.

I miss her, taking Zitromax (Zithromax). I miss her a lot. Writing this has been difficult for me but necessary. Not to share this great gift – so freely given to me by my mother so long ago that started me on my life’s journey and provided the ground for a connection years later – would be the most selfish of action, Zitromax (Zithromax) For Sale. Buy Zitromax (Zithromax) no prescription, So, that is the story. As I sit here in front of the computer screen and read it over with wet red eyes and tears on cheek, I think of how much I loved her – how I love her still.



Ray HarwellRay is a retired Agricultural Research Assistant with the University of Georgia.  He lives in Madison with his wife of 36 years. Their three children are grown and gone with five children of their own.  He is now occupied with the care of an old friend, 93 years young, and making wind chimes from glass and recycled materials. He is also finding the path from which he strayed in days gone by and is learning to reframe, forgive forward and reconnect with that inner artist abandoned so long ago.

FIF: Earth boyDid you miss the Forgive it Forward video? Click here to see the 3-minute video!

Curious how it ALL started.  CLICK HERE to see the 2-minute video book trailer that started it all!

©2010 Enlightened Ink – If you are inspired to share or quote from this article please share us with it. Together we grow.  

 

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