from an article originally posted December 2, 2014…
I am a rock star at packing the basket. I fill my basket with comforts: blanket, magazine, essential oil to help avoid the awful of my port being flushed, music, lotions. My nurse and I know this dance, we have danced this dance for a long time. She and I banter, we do what we have to do, and I’m callous about it all. Then as I turn to put my head down I see Jen is crying. She hates to see this dance. She hates to see me suffer. It’s good to be reminded of heart in the midst of doing the next thing. It’s good to see tenderness, brokenness when my own heart is callused to these ugly dance moves that I’m dancing to live. I simply do them. I have forgotten how sad they are. It was good to be reminded by the cherished and kept tears of my friend Jen.