Exhale.

Sometimes we feel the knot in our chest loosen a little. It’s no longer as stifling as it once felt. And we find permission to dream again.

That’s where we are now. Thankful. Breathing again. Knowing that the worst has passed. The lessons we’re learning haven’t been easy ones, but they are enriching, and character-building. And, honestly, good for us. Thank you for caring, for praying. Thank you for smiling with us as we exhale, smiling with us as we feel relief. Being glad alongside us to know that treatment is done. Praying for us as I continue to heal. It matters to us.

This is what I know- what I’ve learned:

-We have a beautiful life. I knew it all along, but sometimes, it takes a dark, scary place to remind us, to view the colors more clearly.

-We are loved.

-God is good. He cares in the dark hours.

-I have wonderful, wonderful friends. Of family and of faith.

-My clients and blog readers are kind. And patient. And care about us.

-My children are loved, and have been cared for in ways above any expectation.

-Grandparents are irreplaceable. My children have 8 living grandparents. 4 grands, 4 greats. They have no idea how fortunate they are. Thank you, Mom and Dad R. and Mom and Dad H. You’re the next-best-thing to parents, as far as the kids are concerned. Well, scratch that. Probably better. I’m told it’s ‘like vacation’ at your house. Which is so good.

-Sisters are important. Sisters-in-law, too. Caring. Helping. Lightening the load. Babysitting. Calling. Knowing. Listening. Understanding. Little did I know how wrong I was when I was young- wishing then that I was an only child. I had no idea. I cannot imagine life without my four sisters. I love all of you to bits. (P.S. Brothers-in-law? Pretty spiffy, too.)

-Friends are lifesavers. Friends who strengthen our faith, who do the school shopping, and drop off groceries, and bring meals, and send flowers, and leave notes and write cards and listen to our tears, and leave a kind message, and take the kids and shop for our vacation, and mow the lawn, and give to us in ways that leave us speechless. Who do so many other things beyond what I could list. I’m wishing we had the right words.  Thank you.

-Paul. He’s quiet and unassuming, and so kind. I have to say it. I don’t know where I’d be without him. When the storms come, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be than with that man. He’s the steady shelter I need. The opposite of me in so many ways– which is why he’s so easy to get along with…  Thank you, Paul. I love you.

-The Cape was one of the best things that could have happened in the midst of all this. We got away. And enjoyed each other, relaxing, laughing, playing in the sand and surf, enjoying time with friends, worrying a little, but soaking in every precious little drop of life we could during those six days. Looking back at the photos and little video clips has been so good for me over the past weeks, and has given an escape for my weakened body and weary brain. Cape Cod. There’s no place like it. The sand, the wind, the beauty of the surf. The light on the dunes at evening, and the sound of beautiful silence in North Truro. The night sky, where the stars are shown in a beauty like I’ve never seen elsewhere. It’s our spot, our escape. And when this all happened, there was no other place I wanted to be but there. I couldn’t agree more with Thoreau, as he said in the last sentence of his book, ‘Cape Cod’- speaking of its endless shore:  “A man may stand there and put all America behind him.”   -It’s true.

Which brings me to this:  my sanity when I was waiting, and now my enjoyment while I heal. The Cape, as seen through the eyes of our family: