Coming to You in Oneness

Hello All of you who are regular readers of this blog and its sporadic postings. It’s late on Friday evening, but I just spent a wee bit of time looking at Facebook and realized I needed to share with you some news about Elisa, the young woman who has become like a granddaughter to me and who has Stage 4 melanoma of the bone.

The most recent news about the melanoma has been that the only tumor left was at the original site on her lumbar spine. All her Facebook friends and her family got this news a few days ago.

However, tonight I saw on Facebook some concerning news about the cancer. 

First, let me explain that Elisa and I text one another nearly every day, wishing one another a good day and sending bushels and heaps of love. About every ten to fourteen days, we talk on the phone. I wait for  her to call because I never want to interrupt her naps. Resting, as we all know, is necessary for healing.

When we  talk, she brings me up to date on what is happening. However, we haven’t spoken for several days. Her text greetings have been as upbeat as usual and when pain or concern was mentioned, I missed the implications.

Thus, I was not aware of the intensity of the pain she’s been feeling for nearly two months. It must have been Tuesday night that her husband rushed her to the ER because the pain had become unbearable (my word, not hers). 

The ER discovery was that the cancer had attacked her gallbladder: the reason for her two months of intense pain. The next day, she drove down to Salt Lake City for her monthly scans and her infusion (immunotherapy). The doctors there confirmed that she needed to have her gallbladder removed.

However, because the meds for the cancer and for the tests and operation conflicted and also because the operation is “iffy” given the cancer, there has been much stress finding a way forward.

In her Facebook posting, which I read this evening, she spoke about “crying” and “sobbing” and simply feeling unequal to the test that was necessary today. She is, as many are, claustrophobic, and the test simply overwhelmed her senses and exacerbated her fears. 

She is so tired.

And so, I come to you again, to ask that in the Oneness that unites us all you will hold her and her life dear. 

That as you hike, weave, write, feed the cats, go for walks with the dogs, watch a favorite television show, explore the wonder of our world, rest within your own thoughts, or deal with your own health concerns (and I know that several of you are in the midst of your own cancer journey), you will at some moment hold her in Oneness.

That you will trust, as Julian of Norwich did during the Black Plague all those centuries ago, that “All shall be well. And all shall be well. And all manner of things shall be exceedingly well."

We have no control over much of anything—or so I believe—except for the way we respond to life: its hollows and hills, trauma and triumph, heartaches and happiness.

Moreover, none of us truly knows—despite our deepest fears or our abiding faith—what well means in Julian’s prayer . . . or in our own. The question is always, “In this situation, what is the best that might happen for all concerned?”

For myself, I simply trust that whatever happens will be for the good of the Universe and the people involved. A basic tenet of the way I live my life is that out of everything comes good. Always, there is good—maybe not immediately, but in the long run of the days, weeks, months, years that form the span of our lives. 

Still, I want to hold Elisa—and all those who are going through dark days—in Oneness for we are all, truly, One. We all unite in that which makes us most human—the desire to reach out and hold the hand of another with love, compassion, mercy, gentleness, and acceptance in our hearts. 

Thank you.

Peace.

The three photographs are from Wikipedia.