Friday, March 13, 2009

All around me, trees welcome spring. Normally I love to watch this process, but this year is different.

If you’ve been reading for a while, you know of my mother’s amazing cancer journey and how it is drawing to a close. You may not know that my oldest sister died, at 55, of ovarian cancer in 2000. And now my remaining sister has discovered suspicious lumps; her doctor biopsied a lymph node and removed a fist-sized breast mass yesterday; pathology should be in by Monday.

I, thankfully, remain healthy.

Back to those trees. I’m stuck in a metaphor loop.

Dark branches against the sky are lungs. Bronchi. Bronchioles. Alveoli. All reaching toward the sky in a gasp for air.

Dark branches against the sky are the blue veins visible under the milky white skin of a breast.

Dark branches against the sky are the circulatory system.

Dark branches against the sky are the lymphatic conduits that run throughout our bodies.

Dark branches against the sky take the shape of a brain, tracing the folds and valleys, mimicking the neuron. Axon. Soma. Dendrite.

The tangled nests of squirrels are tumors. The small nests of birds are tumors. Fruit trees bloom with disease. The green buds are tumors, coursing their way though lymph, blood, and tissue.

The process of spring, which should mean growth and blooming and change, has become malignant.


Anonymous said...

So sad and written so brilliantly. Please stay healthy and keep writing.

Kerry said...

You are not alone in your journey through these emotions. I lost my sister-in-law to cancer and a whole host of others to the disease. Saying that, it still sucks, for lack of a better word. Your friend is right, take the very best care of yourself possible and keep blogging.

Kelly Hudgins said...

Thanks to you both...

jennie said...

Kelly, I hear you.

My mom died at 48 from cancer, during spring. It was the darkest time for our family. We didn't even start healing until winter.

I hope those long days in December bring you comfort and joy.

Kelly Hudgins said...

Thanks, Jennie.

Anonymous said...

I can't stop thinking about this blog. I've thought of it with every tree when on a walk, when looking out the window at a restaurant at lunch -- I don't think I will EVER look at a tree again and not think of this. I've been telling all my friends and family about it. Your words really touched me.
Christy's mom