It was not long after I had lost him that Keith came to me in a dream. He was his normal healthy self, twinkle in the eye, remote in hand, kicked back on the couch with an arm reaching across the back in both directions. The rain was pouring down and we were in the sun room, so all I could hear was the deafening pounding on the almost tin like roof. He was talking to me. From the look on his face, it was idle chatter. A casual conversation. Yet I couldn’t understand anything. I couldn’t make out any of the words he was forming. I could only hear the cadence and intonation, nothing more. I could not shake the feeling that he was trying to tell me something important despite his casual demeanor. I leaned in to understand and only felt more lost in what he wanted me to know.
He was not the first specter to visit me after leaving behind the land of the living. My grandmother did as well. 22 years earlier. She had a mastectomy when she was 48, just 3 years older than I am now. As a young girl, I remember her letting me put her prosthetic breast in my little training bra. We both giggled at the large bulge and I was fascinated by the realistic feel and look of it. 10 years later, her breast cancer had metastasized. She died in the spring, shortly after I had discovered I was pregnant. When my mother called to give me the news, I crumbled against the living room wall, crying and sobbing and fearful that feelings that strong may harm the new life growing inside.
And then she came to me in a dream. She sat at her quilting frame, dressed perfectly in a bright red vest with a gold pin, healthy again, with her crown of dark curls framing her face as she leaned over, thimbled finger pushing her needle up and back. She was chatting to me but never looked up, focused on the stitches. I strained to hear her. I couldn’t. I knew it was important. Something about my baby? Words of wisdom to get me through life? She looked over at me and smiled, then returned to the quilt frame and the task at hand.
This Friday, I take a major step towards my transition from breast cancer patient to breast cancer survivor. I will undergo my own mastectomy followed by reconstruction. Gary and my mom will physically be there. So many people I love will be there in spirit. I will have two top surgeons working on this body to remove the poison and replace it with the healthy parts of me. All I have to do is sleep. Perhaps dream. Will I finally hear what Keith and my grandmother tried to tell me before? Will they visit me again? Chat for a while? I hope so.
Through all of Keith’s illness, my grief in his absense, my recovery, my rebirth, my new love, my new life, my career, my cancer, I try to remember one thing. I am still me. I’ve always been Cherish, despite each bump in the road and each twist to the plans. Come Friday, my body will be changed and yet, there is this little part of me that knows what Keith and Grandma Blades were saying – you’ll be ok. You have always been ok. You will always be ok. You have it in you to do this. To do anything. And we are here. We have always been here. Don’t look to our cancer for the answers. This is your cancer. This is your journey. We will be there in your dreams and when you wake, you’ll be with those you love.
I am still scared. But I am in the best hands. Both in the operating room and at home. I will heal. I will survive. I’ll meet all of you on the other side of this like the bionic woman. Better and stronger than before, yet still just plain ol’ Cherish.
Leave a Reply