October 10, 2015
October marks two anniversaries at my house. The first pales
in significance to the second. We’ve been together for twenty-one years. The
second - my beloved has been cancer free for nine years.
Back in 2006, our situation was grim until his oncologist
offered a Hail Mary drug. It worked. The tumor suddenly shrunk and the surgeon
at Johns Hopkins agreed to take a chance on surgery. Times were bleak, but the
rainbow was just ahead.
Eleven days after his surgery, I wrote the following blog.
The feeling of appreciation of being alive and together has lasted over the
years. We have been greatly blessed.
Rayne
PS. The same cat is still waking me up by tickling me with his whiskers.
~ ~ ~ ~
October 29, 2006
For these past many months I’ve suffered with insomnia. The
inability to sleep, and rest, often has hidden causes. At least I knew what
haunted me. My beloved’s battle with cancer has taken a toll on our life
together and as individuals. The prolonged use of chemotherapy did its job and
the tumor was finally removed. While his long-term prognosis is unclear, we at
least have renewed hope. In a time when it seems politically incorrect to do
so, my thanks and my praise remain thankfully given to God.
Now I have some breathing (or is it sleeping) room and the
last three nights have been blissful. I’ve dropped like a rock before primetime
and have barely been able to wake up twelve hours later. Until this morning.
This morning the brush of whiskers on my cheek and the
sinking of not-so-tiny claws into my bosom got my attention at the ungodly hour
of 4:13 a.m. I love my cat, honest I do, but his early morning demands were a
bit much. He wanted to go outside and it was pouring rain. He was unhappy. He
wasn’t getting his way with the universe, therefore his slaves needed to be
awake and paying attention to him.
Wrong.
I threw him out in the rain. Tossed him right out the door.
Call the ASPCA on me. Call PETA. Call a cat rescue. I don’t care. Better yet,
you come and get him and let him put puncture wounds in your breast. And besides,
he has a little cathouse under the eaves to go curl up in and stay dry. I
stumbled back to bed and pulled the covers over my head. That’s when I realized
my beloved was awake, too. “Do you know it’s raining?” he asked.
Why, no, dear. I had no idea. I missed the waterfall when I
opened the back door and booted the cat out for a swim.
I rolled over and we snuggled up together as best a man with
fifty staples tracing the outline of his right ribs can and we listened to the
rain. Such a small thing, the sound of rain on the roof, but I don’t think
we’ve heard it for two years.
I’ve often wondered why the sound of rain of the roof
evokes such emotion in most people. Are we glad to be inside and dry? Do we
share some ancient memory of times when our shelters were not quite so cozy?
Perhaps. Whatever the reason, we simply enjoyed the moment, and of being alive
and together. It was a moment of triumph.
Rayne Forrest
Bookshelf
twitter.com/rayneforrest
Work is a four-letter word. I’ve been working for someone
else since I was sixteen. It’s not always fun, but I’ve decided it’s not all
that difficult to get out of bed and go to work when I get paid to show
up. 
