Rain on the Roof - A Blessing in Life

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

A Bridge Just Far Enough

We passed a milestone this past week. Thursday marked six years since my partner's last major cancer surgery. Coincidentally, the day also marked six years since his last cigarette. I'm not sure what to say about a man who smoked his last cig in the parking deck of Johns Hopkins moments before he stepped inside for them to remove half his liver. Tough? Strong? Stupid? Contradictory? Let's go with the last one. It applies to all of us, doesn't it? 

If my partner had any special feelings about the day, he didn't voice them. Well, not in words, anyway. He called and said he was fixing dinner and I should come straight home and not "bee-hop" around town shopping. "Bee-hop" is a good local expression which means go from one location to another much as the way a honey bee goes from flower to flower to flower. 

Dinner was a quiet affair, with no mention of the significance of the day. If that seems strange to you, I will tell you it did not to us. We said all we needed to say eight years ago when the doctors said, "inoperable" and "give him a little extra time." Never have I been so grateful for a cadre of doctors to be so wrong. Trust me when I tell you after hearing those words meatloaf, mashed potatoes and gravy, corn and green beans is a celebration feast. 

All this got me to thinking about bridges. Whether physical, or metaphysical, bridges carry us from one side to another, safely above whatever danger lies below. We encounter them every day, recognized or not, and we step across them to the other side. Sometimes we move with confidence, sometimes with fear, but we go. And frequently, what we find on the other side is something wonderful for us. 

I passed this little bridge one day on a quiet country road and was unable to resist its charm. I hope the owner didn't mind that I took a moment to walk across it, and back again. It looked so perfect I had to learn what it had to say to me, and what perspective it could show me. 

I think this bridge is waiting for someone else, maybe for the person who placed it there, and that's okay. It was enough to share its creek for a few moments before I moved on, looking for the next bridge, the one waiting for me. 

Rayne
website: http://www.rayneforrest.com