This Tree and I

Today I am grateful for the 31-day meditation challenge I just completed, the benefits I feel from it, and the motivation to keep up regular practice of this sacred quiet time. 

I'm kind of on a roll with pictures from our weekend snowshoe outings. Yesterday, Darcy and I followed the trail marked out for skiers and snowshoers, and we saw some new areas of the golf course that is our winter wonderland. 

This tree caught my eye and pulled at my heart instantly:

What caught my eye was the jagged scar left behind by whatever caused this tree to be flattened. Probably a storm. It pulled at my heart because it reminded me of the scars on my flattened chest. After twelve years, I can go days or weeks without really thinking about my chest terrain, courtesy of breast cancer and a bilateral mastectomy.

And then some moments, like this one yesterday, can hit me straight on and deliver an emotional punch. I felt sorry for the tree and the rough split of towering branches from sturdy trunk and roots.

I don't feel sorry for myself. I feel very fortunate to be healthy and I am content with the decisions I had to make all those years ago. I am fortified by some of my own inspired words on this topic: "I am not less of a woman, just a woman less her breasts." 

Perhaps it was on my mind after the recent news of a co-worker's young wife's diagnosis of BC. Such news always brings a pause. I send prayers and well wishes out for the challenging journey ahead.

At such times, I spend a little time reliving some of my own experiences with BC. A pull of grief surfaces as I remember my sister Mary Jo, who died of metastatic breast cancer in 2019. And I give thanks for the health of my sister Zita, friends Sheila, Jenny, Sara, Claire, Candy, Liz, Mary, and so many more.

This tree and I shared a moment. The sunrise shed a warm light on us. Healed and humbled. The tree stands tall in new ways. I stand flat-chested and alive. Darcy and I continued on our way. Gratefully.