www.cancermonster.net

I am sitting outside my RV in my favorite chair, under the awning.  I have a small rug here, four chairs and a couple little tables.  I call this my porch.  The last spot we were in looked out over the lawn, exposed to the park players.  This new place is sandwiched between other RVs.  There are three tall trees in a row between my porch and the next motorhome. With the awning high against the trees, the porch feels like a “Florida Room”.   Don’t feel bad if you don’t know what a Florida Room is.  Most people here in Oregon don’t know what that is - including my own kids.  And three of them were born in Florida.  Think of a lanai or sunroom.  That will work.  I like it here in this new spot more than I thought I would.  My porch is cozier now.

The view out the back of my porch is something I think I am supposed to look at.  It puzzles me.  The awning and trees perfectly frame a section of hillside that has been cleared of trees.  Here in Oregon, trees are valued highly.

When a forest is harvested, strict guidelines are followed.  Trees are cut in small sections at a time. Each section is cut on a time schedule so that no complete hillside is ever cleared at one time.  This is good.  This balances our tourist trade with the major wood industry. In Oregon, we have the view, the trees, and computers.  Oh and coffee.  Can’t forget the coffee. (How could you when there is one coffee place for each man, woman, and child … Ok, it just seems that way.)

It may seem that I am rambling on, but I do have a point.

The section of cut trees framed by my porch is cleared except for one lone tree left growing in the middle very near the top of the hill.  I don’t understand why “they” left that one tree.  But I tend to stare at it a lot.  I like trees, but I am not usually moved by one as I am this one tree. Sometimes I feel like that one tree standing exposed in a flattened field.  I don’t know the statistical minutia of the number of people currently battling cancer, but I imagine each one sometimes feels like that lone tree on the hill up there, all alone and exposed.

Now, the biggest thing that puzzles me about that tree is what happens to it at night.  I am not talking about evening now. By night I mean 12 or 1 am.  I have always suffered from insomnia.  I take a handful of sleep inducing pills every night, but I still can’t fall right asleep.  Especially now.  Who can sleep soundly with a monster growing inside them. So I come out on my porch and read late at night. (Much to the dismay of my neighbors, I’m sure.)   Something so strange and majestic happens to that tree after midnight.  We have been in this new spot since Thursday.  Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday I have watched that tree as it starts to glow. (yes, I know, but stay with me for a minute).  There is a light coming from behind the hillside that shines into the clouds and aluminates the tree.  I don’t know what is over there on the other side of the hill.  But it is so beautiful that I am tempted to wake everyone to come and see my tree glowing!  Yet I haven’t.  I think that is my sign from above.  It says that being alone on that hill, that tree is somehow being watched and nurtured and cared for and illuminated for it’s singular strength.  It survived when others didn’t.  It is alive and stands in memorial for its mates that are gone.

I want to be that lone tree up there on the hill.

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My oldest daughter just called me.  What a treat.  She is 18 and on her own.  She is beautiful and smart and a joy to me . . . Now that she is on her own! Haha. No offence Kel!  Everything that makes a successful adult makes for a difficult teenager.   But it seems that the pain was worth it.  I am very proud of the way she turned out.   One down, three to go.   When Kelli was 9, we had Brandi. Then boom, boom, the other two came after. (You need to watch what you pray for, ’cause God has a sense of humor!) Now, I have them up to 9, 8, and almost 7. I can’t leave them now.  Half-way baked.  I will be that lone tree.  If not for myself, for them.

I have news for the Monster: I may have IT, but IT doesn’t have me.