I've sat here looking at my keyboard for the past fifteen minutes trying to think of what to say and how to articulate it when I did. A simple "thank you" hardly feels adequate, but then again sometimes just the simple things can be so meaningful. Case in point are the comments that were left on my previous post titled "Damn It".
Sometimes we don't always know what the right words are to comfort a person when they're feeling down. "Do I say this or that? Do I give a long testimony to my own journey through a certain situation? Maybe they don't want to hear how good I'm doing right now? Maybe they don't want to hear how things didn't work out?"
All of these thoughts have run through my own mind when I've wanted to console someone when they're hurting. The easy thing to do is simple say nothing and hope things get better. Not because we don't care, but simply because sometimes the right words just don't come. Well, what I've discovered is that if you're speaking from the heart there are never wrong words.
I feel like I'm rambling a bit tonight, but I guess what it all comes down to is this: Your comments and emails all meant a great deal to Lisa and I. Just knowing there are friends out there willing to lock arms and say "we care" is tremendously healing. So I'm back to my simple phrase of "thank you".
Now for the update. Maria did have her surgery yesterday and everything appears to have gone well. She is already back home now. (I've got to think that 20-30 years ago she'd have been in the hospital for a much longer stay than just overnight.) Now she/we are in the hurry-up and wait cycle. She should have results from the latest tests back early next week, and obviously we are hoping for the best.
The hard part for her will be to rest and take it easy. She's a stubborn old Italian woman who has always been extremely independent. (Wow that's an understatement). She lives in northern California, so for us to get down there is more than just a simple day trip. She does have her son living with her so she does have someone to help care for her, but again, after seventy-five years on the planet, she is pretty sure her way is the only way to do things. I can hear her now, "How come-a you gonna do-a that like-a this-a way? That's not-a how-a I told you-a to do it."
I'm pretty sure she's too darned tough to let even cancer get the best of her. Let's hope so anyway.