Amy M. Schaefer
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From the Front Porch

I am an "accidental blogger". When I launched my writing career in March of 2014, one of the things that I decided to include was my journaling, which I have always found to be a comforting and therapeutic endeavor.  It was a big risk to open myself up in such a public forum, but it has taught me that, for the most part, we share far more experiences than we think. It's comforting to know I'm not alone!  (*the "Button Text" is the link to my first novel)
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The Big "C"

7/25/2016

6 Comments

 
Picture
From gettyimages.com
I sat in Oncology next to the frail and stoic ol' mountain man, as we waited for him to finish his liter of IV fluids. The chemotherapy patients around us talked with us about priceless time. "We always think, I'll do this, or that, or whatever...someday. For most, someday never comes," I say. "Back in the day," the lovely older woman close by began, "...our parents and grandparents were happier with less. They lived a simple life in simpler times and they worked hard, but they seemed to be able to enjoy just the little things much more than we do today. By today's standards, they would have been deemed 'poor', but they were richer, I think, in every way that matters. Now, we just work and work for more stuff, day in, day out, until we die or we're too sick to do anything else." The mountain man grunted his agreement. My mind kept trying to process all that was lost amidst supposed gains in the world around us, and all the things of true value that we can never beg for, borrow, or steal.

A vivacious seventy-five year old volunteer approached us. "Would you like a snack? Something to drink?" she offered. "I'll take a Sprite and maybe a Ginger Ale for him?" I asked. "Coming right up, honey," she said. When she returned, she had a basket full of nabs. I selected two things I thought the mountain man might try. "He won't eat," I told her. She scolded him. "Sonny, I've beaten cancer twice now and lived to tell the tale...obviously," she laughed and threw up her hands in mini-celebration. "Now I volunteer here during the week, because I can! Pay it forward, ya know?" she said, doing a little jig. Then, she leaned in close, all playfulness aside, looked him in the eyes and said, "You can do this. Fight like hell, you hear me?" "I'll try," he said on a sigh, giving his tentative agreement. Then he tightly squeezed my hand. I flat out refused to embarrass him by crying, so I didn't even glance his way.

Once our friendly volunteer was gone off to spread her upbeat spirit with other souls who needed it, he and I sat in utter silence. I offered  him a raisin, which he took and absently ate, as his eyes stared off into nothingness space. I knew he wanted to be almost anywhere but here. Still, many around him giving off positive vibes in spite of their circumstances was good for him to see. He needed to get to something beyond him, beyond HIS cancer. Time...precious time is something he can never have back, whatever regrets come for him, haunting his waking hours. Hope is all he has, except for my hand, holding his in this moment, reminding him that whatever comes, we'll face it together. I am inspired, at least, by this collection of people all around whose actions say, "Not today, cancer. You cannot  have me today." And today, it didn't take him either.
6 Comments
Angela Miles
7/25/2016 12:55:39 pm

So glad he has your even if he is trying to rebel. :)

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Amy Marie
7/29/2016 06:04:06 am

Thank you...for everything.

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Michelle
7/25/2016 01:50:42 pm

Amy!! ♥️ Today marks 5 years since my grandpa took his last breath! I wasn't there with him that day, although I'd been there every day before, for 7 months, thinking I was taking care of him but ultimately watching him die. I don't know I was given the task of babysitting, my dad, his son, was perfectly capable of doing the job but animosity and a long history of pain kept him away. Boy, did I grow to resent what was happening and my grandpa! The same grandpa who I would run and jump into his arms when I was young, the same grandpa who let me know that Airman didn't mean pilot as DeWayne tried to pull the will over my eyes, not knowing at that time that my grandpa was a retired Master Cheif in the Navy. Haha!! Wider why life happens the way it does? Now I am watching my own dad fight kidney cancer!! Sometimes, life just sucks!! It's hard not to question Gods plan!! Love you, sister!!!

Reply
Amy Marie
7/29/2016 06:05:53 am

I'm so glad you feel comfortable enough to share experiences I know are very raw and difficult to share. It matters! And I have no idea why life happens the way it does sometimes, but there are times when the way it unfolds makes me mad as hell!

Love you, sister!

Reply
Jim
7/25/2016 02:27:14 pm

I am glad you could be there for your dad.

Reply
Amy Marie
7/29/2016 06:06:35 am

Thank you, Jim.

<3

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    About The Author

    I grew up in rural North Carolina. When I was only nineteen, I moved away and became a military wife. My only aspiration at that tender time in my life was to create an adult life that "fixed" all of the "injustices" of my childhood. Secretly, however, I wanted to reach for the sky! I wanted to be a writer and find ways to "save the world" (my mother used to say, "You have Save the World Syndrome".). Mostly, I wanted to matter.

    Since then, I have learned to reach well beyond what I ever dared to think was possible. I've learned not to allow fear to stop me from whatever future I want to create!

    What keeps me grounded? My Tribe! What provides the wind beneath my wings? A well of reserves filled with unstoppable passion!

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  • Amy M. Schaefer, Writer
  • Blog: From the Front Porch
  • Novels
  • Short Stories
    • Children's Books
  • About the Author
  • Contact
  • Photo & Art Gallery