El camino se hace al andar (the road is made by walking)

On this beautiful morning of September 24, 2012, shortly before sunrise, Myrta began a new path.  After 68 years on her previous journey, she continues in peace and we'll see her around, on the road to Santiago.

Lately, Singing has been useful for me at night. The pain at night makes me feel a bit desperate. I don't want to be too much of a wimp, for I don't want to move to ever more powerful meds too quickly. And I would like to maintain a sense of awareness and understanding of what is going on. 

So, David indulges me, we pray, singing the simple chants that we've learned over the years. The other night "take me, take me as I am" was a wonderful, meaningful statement. I believe that David was not freaked out by it; he just sang with me, understanding what I needed to say. I am amazed by David's capacity to do this special and intimate work with me. 

I am grateful for the guidance and gifts of listening of my ministers. Their presence reminds me, time and again and again, that I am not alone.

We sing, "Take me, oh take me as I am. Summon out what I shall be. Set a seal upon my heart, and live in me".  This is where I am. I am not bítter or upset. I am surrendering my life, thankfully asking to be "dismissed" to another level of work.


The medications, and hopefully the radiation session last week will continue to reduce the pain, helping me to "summon out what I shall be".


 Prayerfully, we continue our way to Santiago, and we will see you on the way. Lots of good singing on the way to Santiago!

A hugging shawl ... What a novel idea!

My friend Katharine is a woman with amazing talents. Recently retired as a minister, she has continued to embrace her role as a spiritual care provider with enthusiasm and compassion. Two days ago, I became once again a beneficiary of her loving work.


My friend is a great knitter who has survived many a meeting with the help of her yarn and her needles. For some time now, Katharine has been active in the prayer shawl movements sponsored by several churches in Kitchener-Waterloo. These groups create knitted prayer shawls which are given to hospital patients, or nursing home residents, as symbolic reminders that they are not alone. The groups' activities are not limited to the technical work of knitting. Prayer and a spiritual component is also involved, and the knitters see themselves as both givers and receivers in this cycle of love and care.


Knowing that my back bones and ribs are very painful right now, Katharine rightly deduced that hugging would be extremely painful. And yet we all want to hug and to be hugged, as expressions of love and caring. My friend came up with the brilliant idea of a hugging shawl, a long and narrow shawl, knitted with the softest yarn, using the most generous and amazing array of colours! A lot of extra work has gone into the knitting, for she chose to use many many rows of coloured yarn.


The many colors that make up my hugging shawl symbolize a life full of diverse and rich experiences, challenges, and moments of joy and sorrow. For me the multitude of coloured yarns is symbolic of the rich spiritual experiences that I have been blessed by in this community. It is comforting, beyond my ability to express in any language, to know that there are so many people of faith, from so many different faith expressions, lifting me and my family in prayer, as we go thorough this challenge.


So, now, when it is time for a hug, or two, we can use my hugging shawl to wrap me in love and prayer and concern. Thank you, Katharine, for such a compassionate and loving gift!


An expression that is constantly on my lips is "God have mercy". I first learned it as a child, in church, but later I grew used to hearing my mother-in-law saying it. Mercy is not something that is necessarily earned by my efforts. To me, mercy is a gracious gift from my creator. I ask for it, I need it, I count on it, but I cannot ask for it by any measure. I cannot give God a shopping list. When I ask for mercy, I am leaving myself open to God's grace, in whatever measure. 


My mother's name was Clemencia, which means mercy in Spanish. And so my new, colourful, full-of-love hugging shawl has a name. Her name is Clemencia. And we will see you around, with Clemencia the hugging shawl, on the way to Santiago!

A chemo holiday is a great thing!

Many readers may know that I am taking oral chemo. It is nothing like the chemo treatments I had last year, but it is no picnic, nevertheless. I take two sets of pills every day for two weeks, then I have a one week holiday. Right now I am halfway through my third holiday, and it is wonderful -- no depressing thoughts, a lot more energy, a brighter outlook. My appetite continues to be abysmal, and I am steadily losing weight. Trying to eat whenever I get an urge, having anything that is in the least bit appetizing. Eggplant is nice. Lamb with spinach curry is good. Any other kind of meat just won't go down. In the past month I have had beautiful visits with both of my children, and grandchildren. I have loved being with them -- what a special family I have! No sugar coating means acknowledging that I have had pretty powerful pain to deal with, especially at night. A warm grain pillow helps me to feel better. Singing helps us to feel better. How will I ever repay my prince for singing with me? "Don't be afraid, my love is stronger, my love is stronger than your fear. Don't be afraid, my love is stronger, and I have promised, promised to be always near".

His name is Ezekiel!

My walking stick's name is Ezekiel. And I am hoping we shall be friends for a long time. Ezekiel was a man who walked with God during a time when the people of Israel were not in very good shape. Ezekiel had a vision, one day, of a great valley filled with dry bones. The way he tells the story, he felt that God was asking him if the bones could live and be vital again. Ezekiel responded that if God should so decree it, the bones would become vital and live again. His response was pretty much all that was needed for the bones to take on lively power and strength again, so that they became in his mind a great army. The point of his vision, Ezekiel tells us, is that we can be lively, despite the dryness of the bones and the hopelessness of the situation. Readers of these reflections of mine know that my cancer has metastasized to the bones. Pretty dry-bone state of affairs. But with God's help, and with the proper amount of medication, we will continue to be part of this great army of walkers, some healthy, some not so healthy, who walk in the direction of hope, and life everlasting. My walking stick tells me that his name is Ezekiel. Not "Zeke" - his name is Ezekiel, and he stands as part of a great army of supporters. And we will get there, by God, though the road be rocky, and the journey be scary, and though the pain should break through unexpectedly. And we will see you, with my friend Ezekiel, on the way to Santiago!

What do you mean "in the moment"?

Ah, that is such a good question! We human beings seem to want stability, we want to be able to predict such things as "how long will it last?" We want to be able to plan - if we go to the lake, how long is the trip going to take? And we wish desperately for a pill, a salve, a cream, something that will take the pain away for a predictable length of time. I have not yet discovered such a medication. I am part of a wonderful palliative care team. My doctors and nurses are able to support patients on a 24/7 basis. If I call them, a response comes back to me in less than 30 minutes. A nurse who specializes in pain management has been assigned to me, and it is very reassuring to know that she knows my case, is familiar with my situation, with the meds I take, and with how my tolerance is working at this time. A quick and compassionate response is a very important part of my healing journey. It is important, however, for me to realize that I am on a healing journey; I am not on a race to find a cure. So, as I meet the severe pain on my lower back, or on my hip, I am aware, that we are part of a work in progress, moving toward the relief of pain, yet aware that we may not make it go away totally and for ever. Being in the moment requires an open mind, an awareness that we will use different modes, that we will address the pain in different ways, and that a good moment will be as long as it can be. We will be grateful for it, and be open to how ever long it lasts. We will be glad in it - that is what being "in the moment" means. And we will see you, along the way to Santiago, one moment at a time.

How long is a good time?

Oh, wow, if I had to tell you how long a good moment lasts, what would I tell you? This is the way we are working nowadays. A good time is as long as a moment lasts. Ten minutes? Ten minutes! Five? OK! I am learning to live in the moment, and am learning not to expect one hour. There will come a time, we still hope, when we will have a longer, possibly more predictable, time. When we will be able to predict with more regularity how long a trip we can have, or whether we will be able to sit through a play. At the present time, we are practicing the art of living in the moment. Winnie the Pooh knows about living in the moment. So does Toby the dog. How are you Myrta? Well. How is the pain? At the moment, it is six out of ten, and will hopefully go away. For a while. And we will keep on walking, together, to Santiago. With the pain, and the meds, and lots of good answers. And hope, always hope.