Trying to focus on cloud edges. That’s how I spent the sunrise this morning, trying to capture the clearest image of the new dawn. It’s a gift for Mari. I introduced you to my new friend a couple of weeks ago, on her 60th birthday. (You can read that piece here.)
Mari learned last week that cancer has now spread to her liver. It’s inoperable. She’s in a lot of pain.
But her spirits were high during our recent phone conversation, boosted by the warmth and kindness of a new doctor. The new doctor, in stark contrast to the former doctor, was positive and caring. The new doctor took her hand (took her hand!), looked her in the eye, and promised to do everything she could to take care of her patient. Genetic testing has turned up two new options for chemo tailored to her personal markers. Mari is delighted.
Somehow, impossibly, Mari buoys my own spirit during our phone call. She tells me that the #JulyJoy photos in my last blog post made her deeply happy. She looks at them over and over again.
What makes the photos not only beautiful but also meaningful, she says, is that the images are all transitory. That moment will never be here again, but it was amazing while it lasted. I have never been able to articulate why photography is such a profound experience for me, but Mari has just done it.
In the context of our conversation about her health and prognosis, her words wrap me in a blanket of emotion. I place my hand over my heart as I take in the gift she has placed gently in my hands.
Mari tells me she imagines me as a little girl, three or four years old, riding a red tricycle in circles in a driveway, my wind-blown hair flowing behind me. Happy. Open. Joyful. I close my eyes and join her in that vision.
We could go on talking forever, but I’m in the car caravanning to a family vacation. My son is driving, my mother is in the back seat, and I become self-conscious.
But somehow my friend, my new friend, my old friend, my friend of many lifetimes, has touched me so deeply that I feel connected to her for all eternity.
I want to give her this sunrise from my temporary balcony. I want to give her a thousand sunrises, with every cloud edge in focus.
***
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Joann says
What a gift for both you and Mari. It is amazing how someone you just met can touch you so deeply. Reading this made me smile. Nothing makes me happier than hearing the joy in your words. I’ll keep Mari in my thoughts and prayers.
Martha Brettschneider says
Thank you my friend! Knowing that your powerful, supportive energy (which I have experienced and drawn from first hand) is headed Mari’s way warms my heart. xxoo Martha
Doreen Tapper says
Lovely post. I just passed the 2-year mark since my diagnosis and mastectomy and your words are an inspiration.
Martha Brettschneider says
Congratulations on your two year milestone, Doreen! I’m sure your journey has inspired others as well. Seven years out from my own diagnosis, I am still pulling lessons from the experience, as well as learning even more from special people like Mari. Thanks so much for your visit and kind words. Be well! ~ Martha
juli norris says
Martha, you tell Mari’s story so well, I feel as though I am also there in the van, eavesdropping on your coversation. I will be sending all the positive energy her way that I can muster! It’s disheartening news, but I love that she seems to be a fighter; it’s the only thing you can be in this situation. I know she doesn’t know me, but if you get the chance, please tell her I’m rooting for her.
Bill Apablasa says
Profoundly moving. I can’t tell you how much this touched me!
Tammy R says
Absolutely beautiful, Martha. Please thank Mari for us too – for letting you share your relationship and her story. While I am very sorry to hear that the cancer is in her liver, I am hopeful the treatments will work. Her optimism and ability to focus on others at this time is inspirational. Thanks and love to you both.