I post these Caringbridge entries in the hope that they will help someone who may be dealing with something similar. Even though Joe’s frontal lobes meningioma was benign it was devastating and wreaked havoc on our marriage. We have been graced to learn from this experience and I hope others will be as well. To better understand this journey of grace, go to my essays and read the one entitled “Looking Back.”
First Caringbridge post – December 14, 2018
Today we saw the neuro-surgeon and as we expected, Joe's benign rather large frontal lobe meningioma must be surgically removed. We expect the surgery to take place the week of Christmas at Yale. We like the neuro-surgeon a lot and he is very reassuring...he's done hundreds of these operations. We can expect Joe to be in ICU immediately after surgery as brain surgery is delicate and he'll need extra nursing care. He'll be in the hospital a few days and depending on how his tumor-free brain responds he will either come home or go to rehab for a short while. We can also expect that Joe's current symptoms will worsen immediately after surgery because of the invasiveness of the surgery. But not to worry. Realistically it's probably going to take several months for Joe to be back himself. Because of the size of his tumor and the location, between the two front lobes, the medical research team is very interested in Joe. He's agreed to participate in one of their research projects and we go on Monday for a new kind of MRI, no side effects, and he does get paid $100 to participate! In meantime, your thoughts and prayers are appreciated. I'll post when we know the date of the surgery. Love to you all!
Surgery is Scheduled December 18, 2018
Joe's surgery to remove his meningioma will be on Thursday, December 27th at Yale. We go for the pre-op work-up this Thursday afternoon. Yesterday we spent several hours at Yale with Joe participating in the research project that measures the metabolism of brain tumors. The principal researcher in this project told us this is the most exciting thing to happen in the field of Magnetic Resonance Imagining in the past twenty years; Joe being only the 10th person in the world to have this method of imagining. And he received the $100 as promised. So, we ate comfort food at Cracker Barrel and gave the young man who was our waiter a generous tip. Strange graces are appearing every day. When I called American Airlines to cancel our flight to Key West that we were suppose to take over New Year's to be there with Ben, Erin and the kids, the reservationist said she would pray for us. When I said "that makes me want to cry," she continued to comfort me by saying she was sure Joe would be okay. I could have been an atheist for all she knew and yet her faith and prayers for these two strangers is grace. Your positive thoughts and prayers mean a great deal to us as well. I will keep you posted. Love from both of us! P.S. In case you are wondering, because of the location of tumor and the edema in his frontal lobe, Joe is very relaxed about all this, not worried at all--which will help with his healing after surgery. Another grace!
PreOp Done December 21, 2018
Best I can tell Joe is all set for surgery next Thursday. We were at Yale Hospital yesterday for all the pre-op stuff they have to do. It tired him out and yet everyone was kind to us. Valet parking was the best perk! Ordering take-out pizza and having a quiet evening by the fire with candles and the Christmas tree aglow, helped restore us both. We won't know the exact time of the surgery until next Wednesday afternoon. However, as of today Joe is the first surgical case on the 27th for the neurosurgeon and his team. For added support, my sister, Amy, and stepson, Dan, will be here for the surgery. Taking things a day at a time as best we can, we may even go see a movie later this afternoon. Keep your prayers coming...we can feel them!
First Thing in the Morning December 26, 2018
We'll be heading to Yale New Haven Hospital at 5:00am in the morning for Joe's surgery. Joe continues to be calm, cool and collected about the whole thing. And as he says, "I'm all prayed up!" We expect the surgery to last 6 to 7 hours and the prognosis is very positive. Dan is here and Amy as well. We've enjoyed a meal together tonight, laughing a lot and gearing up for this surgery. Prayers appreciated!
Surgery Success December 27, 2018
The neurosurgeon gave a successful report on Joe's surgery. He was able to remove 95% of the tumor and due to proximity to arteries needed to leave a bit of the lining. Surgeon also said Joe will have a wicked headache and won't like his new hair cut! His hair will grow back and they will treat his headache. They are stitching him up and he'll be in ICU tonight. Can't wait to see him!
He’s Hungry December 28, 2018
What a difference 12 hours post surgery have made. Joe is much more alert this morning and says he's starving. Breakfast has been ordered! His head does hurt and they're managing his pain. He also has quite a shiner black eye from the surgery and looks more like a fighter than a patient. Vitals are good, he knows today's date, and where he is. He knows who is President, which made him groan. Expecting he will be moving out of ICU later today. All is well here.
Ready, Set, Go…are you sure? December 29, 2018
Recovery from brain surgery is fascinating. Today, like yesterday, Joe is coherent and yet continues to be unfiltered in what he says most of the time. He comes out with some pretty funny things, like asking his very pregnant nurse if he was the father of her baby so clearly he's not 100% with it. Medically, however, he's stable. Neurologically he's where his surgeon expects him to be at this point in recovery. And while Joe is mobile and physical therapy charts he is ready for discharge, I can't believe he is coming home as is, probably tomorrow. Nonetheless, while Dan is with Joe at the hospital today, Amy and I are making ready for Joe to come home. A bed is downstairs. There's plenty of food in the refrigerator, thanks to Dan. We're off to Target for some necessaries. Other family members are planning to come help out. Clearly this is real and I've got to wrap my head around it! So prayers for both of us!!
Home Sweet Home December 30, 2018
Happy to say we are home! It took a great deal of coaxing to motivate Joe to get ready to leave the hospital, not because he wanted to stay but due to the location of the tumor on his front lobes and the remaining swelling he's highly unmotivated to do anything. Frustrating as well is that he thinks it's funny to be obstinate. The surgeon assures us all this is normal. Motivation will improve and my patience must as well! Home health occupational and physical therapy will start tomorrow and this will help both of us! On the other hand, I'm grateful he's kind and easy going rather than angry and frustrated. The extensive bruising is still dark purple so while he looks pretty scary, he's not in any pain-another blessing. Son, James, comes on Tuesday which will be a help. Thanks for your many prayers and good wishes!
Step by Step January 4, 2019
The following is the enews article I wrote yesterday to my parishioners.
"So, here’s the thing. I know God is with Joe and me in this journey. I know God loves us. I know you and many others are praying for us. I feel God’s presence and your care. I am blessed in so many ways. Nonetheless, I am weary. I can’t help but wonder how long it will be before I have my husband fully back. It’s tiring having to look after both of us. I miss being at Trinity as I would normally be. It’s frustrating not being able to come and go as I please. Then guilt takes over. Things could be much worse. Joe did not die in surgery as I feared. He did not have complications. His prognosis is very good. We love each other. I have lots of support. All the while, this is difficult. Then I remember something a friend said to me after Joe’s surgery: “Be gentle with yourself and each other.” Be. Gentle. Repeating this silently to myself, relaxes me. It softens the jagged edges of my frustration. It puts things into a more positive perspective. Letting go into gentleness, I also hear the words of Julian of Norwich, “All shall be well, and all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well.”
Yes, all shall be well. Joe has his post-surgical appointment with the neurosurgeon on January 11th. The medical insurance you provide for us allows for a home health nurse to see him weekly, as well as, physical therapy and occupational therapy. Physically he’s on the mend. His two black eyes are now greenish-purple. Swelling around the incision has decreased. His vital signs are all good. He’s walking unassisted and you may even see us out and about. Joe’s biggest challenge is his cognition and inability to motivate. They say this will get better given more time to heal. Brain surgery is traumatic. Life is difficult at times. And yet, as this new year unfolds may we all learn more about God’s grace, God’s love, God’s ability to heal and make us whole—no matter what the circumstances. Grateful for you all! Jenny+
Rocky Road January 9, 2019
I enjoy eating a bowl of Rocky Road ice cream with it's tantalizing taste of chocolate, nuts and marshmallows. What's not so palatable is this rocky road of recovery with Joe. And then I have to remind myself that it's been just two weeks tomorrow that he had a rather large benign tumor removed from his brain. Evidently, according the neurosurgeon's nurse with whom I spoke this morning, Joe's body is reacting to this rocky road as well. Last night was rough. For four hours Joe simply could not motivate his body to get up off the toilet and come to bed. I tried numerous tactics to help motivate him and nothing worked. He's also a big man and I can't lift him. Our dog, Ruby, even tried to help by jumping into the bath tub, which didn’t help at all! At one point I said, "all you have to do is stand up." To which he starts singing the hymn "stand up, stand up for Jesus." I don't need to tell you at 1am, this was not funny! Awhile later I said, "the only thing to do is get up." And he starts singing, "only the lonely." Writing this now, it is funny and shows the cleverness of the brain, his brain anyway. Eventually he came to bed and yet woke up this morning with a severe headache, which he hasn't had before. The prescribed pain medication eased it and he's slept a good bit today. On a positive note, Joe rallied for his in-home physical therapy session this afternoon and we may go out for dinner to get out a bit. So a rocky road today. The nurse assures me this is normal and that things will get better. There's also a monthly support group at Yale that I'm going to attend which should help as well. Thanks for all your continued prayers and care!
Post-Op Visit January 11, 2019
According to Dr. Piepmeier, the neurosurgeon, Joe's greatest ally is TIME. Synonyms for ally such as, supporter, abettor, backer or bedfellow all seem to fit. No doubt about it, Joe has had a significant brain injury. However, unlike some brain injuries, all of his pathways are intact. Analogous to electrical wiring in your home, there's somewhat of a power outage in his frontal lobe. However, rewiring is not needed. Given time, the flow of function will start up again. Pathology shows Joe has had swelling in his frontal lobe from the slow-growing tumor for a long time, possibly ten years. He may even have some swelling six months from now. Pathology also specifies the tumor as a Grade 2 meningioma. With this designation and because there was tissue from the tumor that could not be surgically removed, radiation therapy will most definitely be part of the treatment plan. If he didn't have radiation, the tumor would come back. First, though, he has to heal from the surgery. Sleep and rest are good, also moderate exercise. No driving, no heavy lifting. We go back on February 8th for an MRI and to see the neurosurgeon. We could go ahead and have neuropsychiatric testing done but Joe would inevitably not do well so we'll wait on this. I'm encouraged and so is Joe. Dr. Piepmeier says we're both good people and to hang in there, so that's what we're doing! Joe invited him to go to lunch with us to which he politely declined:)
Too hilarious not to share if you read my "Rocky Road" post...one of Joe's sisters remembers that when he was around eight years old, he and a friend got in trouble in school. The teacher had them put their heads on their desk as punishment. As the story goes, when Joe put his head down he started loudly singing, "Hang Down Your Head Tom Dooley!" No doubt about it, my husband is quite a character and appears to have been so from an early age!
Roller Coaster Recovery January 17, 2019
I used to love riding roller coasters. When Joe and I were dating and my stepson, Paul, was about 10, I loved riding roller coasters with Paul. Holding on for dear life, screaming my head off, being jerked around was thrilling. I would exit the ride, laughing hysterically. Twenty years later, not so much. I no longer like being tossed about, being scared to death, soaring high with abandon. These days I much prefer staying grounded in peace and calm. And yet…here we are on what feels like a roller coaster ride of recovery. On Monday the Occupational Therapist noted Joe’s oxygen level was low and was concerned about his shortness of breath. On Tuesday afternoon the RN concurred and sent us to Joe’s primary care MD, who sent us to the ER at Danbury Hospital. Sure enough, the chest x-ray confirmed that Joe has pneumonia. So, they admitted him Tuesday evening and have now decided to keep him another day or two for his oxygen levels to come up. Danbury is a good hospital and closer to home than Yale. I’m getting more rest and a bit of a break. Joe would much rather be home with me and Ruby, especially Ruby! A snow storm with icy mix appears to be heading our way over the weekend so we’ll have to see how that impacts when Joe gets home. I’ll keep you posted. Your prayers and care mean so much. Writing also helps me cope and keep things in perspective so thanks for reading these posts!
Back on Track – January 20, 2019
Happy to report Joe came home from the hospital late Friday afternoon with mostly clear lungs. The home health nurse came yesterday and his vitals are good, oxygen level up, and only a little crackle in the left lung. So we're back on track for recovery. He's a little weaker but becoming more like himself. For example, I so loved hearing him laugh while talking to two of the gran-girls yesterday. When they asked if we'd moved a bed downstairs for him, he told them that a hospital bed had been set up in our front room which faces a very busy Main Street and that he sits in bed waving to everyone. He went on spinning this tall tale by saying that Newtown is now providing a tour bus to come by our house and the biggest draw is when he is sitting on the bedside commode waving (sic humor I know!) I'm hoping for several more weeks of continued recovery before radiation and a sense of humor in the midst of it all. Love to all.
The Body Knows February 1, 2019
Most waterparks have these giant 300-gallon water buckets positioned high off the ground, perilously filling with water until the bucket can hold no more and at the peak moment, the bucket tips forward dumping torrents of water onto the unsuspecting souls standing below. Hold this visual as you continue reading.
Experience is teaching me that while caring for a beloved, you are doing okay until you’re not. Since Joe’s diagnosis of a brain tumor two months ago with subsequent surgery and a bout of pneumonia I thought I was doing okay. Then I began to feel super tired. Getting more sleep, talking to friends, working out, seeing my spiritual director and therapist helped. It wasn’t enough. The cumulative effect of Joe’s slow-growing tumor over several years has been more emotionally and physically draining than I realized. A week ago my bucket tipped with my body demanding “enough, already!” It did so with a fainting spell which caused me to fall, resulting in a mild concussion. I’m okay (I really am according to doctor who did all sorts of tests!) And I need time to rest, regroup and heal with Joe.
In conversations with the bishop, lay leaders and staff we’ve agreed taking some time off from Trinity is a wise, healthy decision. My hope is to return fully rested by March. I’ll check-in with the wardens in about three weeks and we’ll see where things stand. I have to admit it was delightful lingering in bed this morning and clearing my calendar. Interestingly, with me slowing down, Joe is picking up speed. This morning he dealt with faulty heat in the rectory. He made biscuits for dinner one night this week. Someone from Trinity picked him up yesterday for the monthly "lunch bunch" which he enjoyed. Plus, the two of us are laughing more and fantasizing about a vacation at the beach. We're going to try listening to a John Grisham novel together by the fire. We're going to a local spa for a couple of days to celebrate our 18th anniversary. Then Joe sees the neuro-surgeon next Friday and we'll hear more about radiation after that (which does not sound fun but is necessary.) So that's where we are today. Our bodies are healing and we're learning a lot from them!
Like Clockwork February 8, 2019
It is nothing short of a miracle that we were up, showered, dressed and out the door this morning at 6:45am for Joe’s six-week follow-up visit at Yale. Yes, we went to bed last night at 8:30pm however there was no need on my part this morning for cajoling, begging, pleading, admonishing, nor motivating Joe to hurry. (Or as he distortedly remembers previous appointments, me yelling at him!) Nope, we were up and out like clockwork, driving up to valet parking at 7:30am, arriving on time for his 7:50am MRI. We enjoyed breakfast at the hospital cafeteria, which by the way serves delicious southern grits! Dr. Piepmeier, the neurosurgeon, was able to work Joe in earlier than his 11am appointment so we were home by noon.
The news is good which we could see on today’s MRI. The edema or swelling in Joe’s brain has decreased by almost a third. The remaining 10% of the tumor is small by comparison. Aggravating symptoms like a sore jaw, scalp numbness, lack of appetite, plus a metallic taste are all part of the healing process and should dissipate over time. Joe has a green light to drive when he’s ready. We see the radiation oncologist next Thursday, on Valentine’s Day, to learn about radiation and when that will begin. Joe then sees Dr. Piepmeier again in three months.
What started as a rainy cold morning has turned out to be a sunny warmer winter day. We took a nap when we got home, and I am discovering just how good rest is for the soul. Ben and EunJung are here this week which is a help. Dan comes back on the 18th for a few days. And while I was sad to read in a church email that a parishioner is having surgery today, I am very glad there are others to care for her while I’m on leave. Likewise, when my mother was hospitalized last week with a stomach virus, I am grateful my sisters were there to care for her. Lots of folks, like you, are sending love and care. We can feel it and are very blessed!
Six and a half weeks February 15, 2019
Six and a half weeks of radiation is what the radiation oncologist prescribed yesterday for Joe. This means daily round trips to Yale, M-F, for small doses of radiation to be administered, probably beginning mid-March. We go next Friday for the “planning session” which entails a CT Scan, the calendar of appointments, plus, to ensure accuracy for the radiation, a tight-fitting mask will be tailored made to Joe’s face (which he will get to keep and wear on Halloween!) The most significant side effects will be fatigue and hair loss. Rare side effects are scary things like seizures and loss of vision so we’re not thinking about these.
Today I’m hopeful. Yesterday, I was teary and weary. The residual reality of Joe’s brain tumor loomed large. Borrowing lines from poet, David Whyte, after seeing the radiation oncologist my “uncourageous life” sought only to curl up in ball and pull into silence. Feeling not strong at all, my uncourageous life “just wants to lie down; close its eyes and tell God it has a headache.” And yet, again borrowing lines from Whyte, “my other life, the life I admire and want to follow looks on and listens with wonder, and even extends a reassuring hand for the one holding back…” I interpret this extended hand to be the hand of Jesus, the divine within me, which is full of hope, love and reassurance that the help we need will be in in place when we need it.
Realizing again, I am a pilgrim on this journey, perhaps at the end of this very long two-year road, I will be able to “view looking back on the way we took…understand myself as a witness and thus bequeath me the way ahead so that it can teach me…”
“The Radiation Journey Begins” March 7, 2019
Today was the “trial run” for Joe’s radiation treatments. Traffic was heavier than usual at 7:20am and we still arrived on time for the 8:30am appointment. Subsequent appointments are at 9:45am and that’s better for our daily commute. Beginning on Monday and going through April 24, we will make this drive to New Haven (a lovely drive along the Housatonic River.) Treatments will last only 20 minutes or so. Today Joe reports the mask was super tight and yet they know what they’re doing so no complaints. Afterwards we enjoyed breakfast at the hospital. Valet parking is great until there is a delay due to the driver of your car being bumped by a bus to which the police are called, and a ticket issued to the bus driver plus lots of paperwork to ensure we’re adequately compensated. However, we’re so chilled from a few days at a yoga center with massages and mindfulness practice that we hardly notice the inconvenience.
Realizing my limitations in caring for a congregation and caring for Joe, I am taking family leave from Trinity until after Easter. I won’t pretend this is easy. Last night, when we attended an Ash Wednesday service at a neighboring Episcopal Church, the priest was welcoming and yet my heart was aching to be with my people, at my parish. The same thing happened this past Sunday when we worshiped at the Congregational Church in New Haven. Grieving this temporary loss of pastoral and priestly ministry, I can hardly sing the opening hymn. Having Joe’s radiation treatments coincide with Lent seems spiritually fitting for I do feel like I am entering the wilderness. And yet, as the priest reminded us last night, Lent is a journey of the heart, a time to draw closer to God. I do not know how this Lent, Holy Week and Easter will draw me and Joe closer to God. What I do know is that this is a journey of the heart. As Joe and I deepen our love for each other and seek God’s love amid this journey, I know we are not alone. We are grateful for your prayers, care and love.
“How a brain tumor saved our marriage”
You may think I am exaggerating. I am not. A year ago, I had a husband who was barely functioning at home much less as a marriage partner. According to him he was fine, and the problem was me. Of course, we now know it was the unruly brain tumor that was wreaking havoc on Joe’s ability to function and relate. And now it’s almost humorous the way he’s recovering. For example, he’s been highly motivated to clean out his closet and sort through his clothes. One day he comes to me with Ruby’s dog meds in his hand and wants to know why they are in his underwear drawer. Going through his sock drawer, he finds a collection of restaurant receipts from 2017. He can’t believe some of the things I tell him that happened last year. He’s like Rip Van Winkle, now waking up. So, to personify this troublesome tumor, we arbitrarily named it “Thaddeus.” Which, interestingly, as it turns out means “courageous heart.”
Reflecting on this journey, I don’t believe this chosen name was coincidental. For indeed, going through the rigors of radiation and repairing our marriage requires both of us to have a courageous heart. Before we knew of the tumor, I was scared and uncertain of our future together. After the diagnosis, I was scared I would lose Joe. Fear has been a real part of this journey. And yet, so has courage. With the gentle coaxing of our therapist, we are courageously talking about the effects of “Thaddeus” on our marriage. As Joe’s brain-functioning continues to increase he’s getting back to being the Joe I love and cherish. So as startling as it may sound, I do believe this brain tumor has saved our marriage. We’re not quite there yet. Joe still has eighteen radiation treatments to go, he’s feeling more fatigue and his hair is thinning. but as my spiritual director said recently, this journey is my resurrection story. Slowly and surely it is becoming our resurrection story. Signs of new life are starting to appear. We worked together in the yard yesterday raking leaves and picking up sticks. And it warmed my heart to see the colorful crocus finally beginning to bloom from the long cold winter. Easter is coming! Thank you for your continued prayers and care!
Note to self: other feelings of sadness, anger, grief and loss were also felt along with fear before the diagnosis of the brain tumor. And I was not simply uncertain about the future of our marriage, I had decided I was leaving it.
Palm Sunday April 14, 2019
No doubt about it. This past winter was hard. Thankfully we were well-seasoned while living in upstate New York to handle extreme winter weather, so it wasn’t the dark dreary cold and snow that were a struggle. The challenges of this winter were for me maters of the heart. For example, yesterday was the first day since last fall that weather-wise we were able to enjoy our back deck. The sun and warmth felt delightful. And then it dawned on me. The last time I was out here we knew nothing about Joe’s brain tumor. I knew something wasn’t right, but the truth was yet to be revealed. And when it was revealed in early December…it was as though a massive snow storm with bitter cold blew through our lives and settled in for months. And yet there have been many blessings of which I am very grateful.
This week a friend shared a post with me that captures perfectly the sentiments of my heart: “Life is amazing. And then it is awful. And then it’s amazing again. And in between the amazing and the awful it’s ordinary and mundane and routine. Breathe in the amazing, hold on through the awful, and relax and exhale during the ordinary. That’s just living heartbreaking, soul healing, amazing, awful, ordinary life. And it’s breathtakingly beautiful.” by LR Knost posted on Spiritual Awakenings April 8, 2019
I now know this beautiful truth from the inside out in ways I would never had known if the winter storm of Joe’s tumor had not blown through our lives. To write this on Palm Sunday as Jesus enters Jerusalem to face his death seems most appropriate. For in the end, as we are discovering anew, there is always resurrection. Joe is doing well with radiation, with only eight treatments to go. We are making it!
Maundy Thursday April 18, 2019
Her name is Karen. She is elderly and comes alone to Smilow for her radiation treatments. A volunteer brings her down in a wheelchair and takes her back up for a taxi ride home. Karen’s appointed radiation time is right before Joe’s. We’ve seen her every day for the past six weeks and she is usually cranky. If she’s late, they take Joe first and she directs her upset toward him. When Joe began wearing his NY Yankees ball cap, she was clearly not happy as she is an avid Red Sox fan. She would scowl at him and with disdain refer to him as “Yank.”
When Joe learns that Karen’s last treatment is to be on Tuesday this week, he began to engage her in conversation. She starts to soften. Without any prompting she tells us how in February of this year, when she was in the hospital, the hospital chaplain asked if there was anything she had ever wanted to do that she hadn’t yet done. Karen’s reply was that she wanted to be baptized. She’d had the chance when she was 13 years old but didn’t want to get her hair wet so emphatically declined. The story she tells of the chaplain baptizing her brought tears to my eyes. Tuesday of this week Joe brings Karen a card and stands by her as she bangs the gong to celebrate her last radiation treatment. It’s the first time we’ve seen her smile. Likely we won’t see her again and yet somehow, we are forever connected. We promised her our prayers.
Somehow this story seems right for today, Maundy Thursday. It’s not exactly washing someone’s feet but it’s close. And while my heart hurts not being able to be a priest and pastor during Holy Week, I am keenly aware these days how most people are hurting for love. In the living of life, we all need Jesus through others to love us. We need Jesus and others to feel our Good Friday suffering and pain, to wait with us on Holy Saturday when nothing makes sense, and to give us hope of new life in Easter resurrection. Know of our prayers for you all during this Holy Week and celebration of Easter on Sunday.
CELEBRATION April 24, 2019
This past Saturday evening Joe and I attended the Easter Vigil at St. Bart’s Episcopal Church in NYC. In the most dramatic liturgy of the year, the story of salvation begins in darkness with creation and moves to resurrection. Just before the moment that Easter was to be proclaimed with the lights coming up and the first glorious “Alleluia,” the Welcome Committee, who was setting up the reception in the back of the church, got a little ahead of themselves. Amidst dark solemnity, we heard a loud “pop” as the champagne was uncorked. We all laughed, including the priest. It was quite a celebration.
Today we are celebrating again! This morning Joe completed his 33rd and final radiation treatment. After receiving discharge instructions, he banged the ritual gong, and everyone applauded. We were given well wishes, told to keep smiling and that we would be missed. We then went to Donut Crazy and indulged ourselves in sweetness. Yes, today feels like Resurrection and in many ways, it is. Even Mother Nature is celebrating today, wearing her prettiest spring dress adorned with pink blooming tulip trees, yellow daffodils, lush green grass, sunshine, and blue skies. Having come through this time of desolation, it feels like God is embracing us with a big bear hug and I want to hang on to this feeling forever. Who wouldn’t, right?
And yet, looking back over the past three months, six months, year, two years, I wouldn’t trade any of those difficulties for where we are today. Today I know am in a different place; believe Joe is as well and am grateful our marriage is in a place of resurrection--a place of new life. Tonight, we’re going to celebrate at a favorite Italian restaurant, tomorrow we’re going to relax at a spa, Friday I return to work at Trinity and Sunday I’m back preaching and presiding. Joe is to take it easy for a while, so his brain can rest and in six weeks goes back for a follow-up visit. As predicted, his brain is a little fuzzy, however his adolescent sense of humor is fully intact. He brought home the dreadful mask he’s had to wear for the treatments and says he plans to put it on early one morning while I’m still asleep to scare the bejesus out of me when I open my eyes. He thinks it will be hilarious. I do not! Thanks for reading all these posts as well as for all your prayers, love and care. We send our Resurrection Blessings to all!!