Joys and Sorrows

Today at church, during the brief sharing which preceeds the service, I shared my sorrows.

It felt good to say Cathy O'Brien's name out loud in a sacred space. Today one of the musical interludes was an Irish sounding soung on a guitar and a harmonica, and it somehow reminded me of her and felt fitting, like I'd been able to attend her funeral almost. I held her close to my heart and meditated on some of the words she's written on YSC and her impact upon me.

I shared Cathy's passing, and how sorrowed I am by it, with the congregation. As tears slipped out, I also said, "She was diagnosed two months before me, and though I'm healthy now, I'm so frightened that I might follow in her footsteps."

I also shared that I am dreading my upcoming surgery. Three years (almost) of fighting. I'm so tired of fighting. I want peace.

The congregation was kind. I was hugged, approached, smiled at. I was told that I would be held in thoughts, that I would be prayed for, that they would meditate on my healing. Different people spoke to me in different ways, all kind. This is a fellowship at its best.

It helps me to share. That's why I share so much here, too. It makes me feel less alone in my fight. Maybe my pain will lessen someone else's by making them feel less alone in their struggles, whatever they may be.

But then I came home and took an anti-anxiety pill, which is still not taking effect. I have an acid-reflux feeling in my belly that I'm certain is a fit of nerves. It took a lot out of me to speak today, to admit my fear out loud (harder than in writing, for me at least), to cry pubicly.

Sigh.