i always thought that they were cherry blossoms. in my mind it was always cherry blossom season. last week wendy told me that they are plums; the plums come first, and the cherries later.
as the weather has warmed and the blossoms return, i find myself highly aware that i am looping back over the days when my life began to narrow/expand into preparation for surgery last spring. and just as i have found with the anniversaries of deaths and births, there is integration to do. the echoes of the knives call to me. the scar changes, the numb places shift, sensations flow through the tissue, the mind.
as i gathered information for my taxes it became necessary to sift at last the files i made at the time of my surgery so that i could find the medical bills. everything was there, tenderly sorted in the earlier phases, jumbled together at the end: the letter i wrote to the friends who were taking me to the hospital explaining what would happen there, all of the notes from the pre-op appointments, notes that my loved ones took when they spoke with the surgeon before i woke, sheet after sheet of permission that i signed away (oh the trust!), the little chart of what i swallowed when after i got home. the records begin in my handwriting, and then i see james', and then others i do not recognize, as hands stepped in to help me have what i needed to know.
it was good to have reason now to hold these things again in my hands. to decide what to keep, what to shred, what to recycle.
i want to thank you again for your support. it's still helping me. as i do to the longterm work of integrating that experience and this disease into who i am, the support that you gave me in those crucial days echoes out and as time loops around i find it again, waiting for me, your love, and the care you gave me then holds me now.