About Me

My photo
I am a retired English teacher and department head, the mother of three grand mother of four, and have been married to the same man for 53 years, two years after we met at college. I taught in both middle and high schools as I really love teens and in-betweens. I was also a certified Lamaze instructor, and for a short time a volunteer chaplain at Howard County General Hospital. I am a two-time cancer survivor, ovarian (2003), and breast (2019) I was born in South Philadelphia and grew up in the 'burbs with great parents, in a bilingual household. I love soft pretzels and cheesesteaks, the Phillies, the Eagles, the Orioles, and sometimes the Ravens. I love being Mom, Aunt Kathy, Nona Kathy (Kath), and Teacher. I spend a lot of time in my gardens in the spring and summer, and in the winter I plan what I'm going to plant. I also am an avid reader, cook, photographer, lover of languages, music, and four-footed furries.

Translator!

Showing posts with label Notre Dame. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Notre Dame. Show all posts

Friday, April 19, 2019

Take Care Your Wishes

Notre Dame Cathedral virtually burned to the ground this week; still more immigrants seek asylum; our country 's divide grows as those corrupt and hate-filled saturate the news with anathema and their power.  Temperatures wold-wide have increased two degrees, and Mother Nature becomes more and more violent in her response.

More importantly, this is the week I was told I have breast cancer.  I saw the mammogram; I intrinsically knew it didn't look good; I saw the look on the faces of the technicians and the radiologist;  I saw they wouldn't look me in the eye,  and yet I was devastated when told.  I waited until my husband left for work, and then sobbed.  

I wonder if the fates heard me when I've frequently said I don't want to grow old.  Frailty terrifies me.  What I'm feeling now is a close second.  I'm at the mercy of others.

I mourn the loss of my normal.  I mourn that a part of my body that I love is now sick.  I see the shirts that boast, "These are fake; my real breasts tried to kill me,"  and while I appreciate the humor, I cannot join in with the laughter as something I treasure, with which I've lived for 67 years is sick and will soon  be under the knife.  And as trivial as it seems, I'm saddened by my soon-to-be bald head, and wondering if I can learn how to tie a scarf, a pretty one that makes me look as if I'm handling my illness well.

Monday, May 18, 2009

A Hero Is Much More Than A Sandwich

One commonality we all share is our search for heroes. We look to sports figures, celebrities, politicians, and are frequently disappointed when we learn they have indulged in performance enhancing drugs or scandals. One by one many of these clay soldiers fall.

About eight years ago, I met a friend my husband had made through business. We have been in the company of him and his wife of 50 years several times and always have a good time. The same types of ridiculousness make us laugh, and we share ideologies in many other areas: our children are a source of love and pride; we marvel a the beauty and power of nature; at irony and politics; we teared up when we watched Obama deliver the commencement address at Notre Dame, incredulous at his poise in the face of being jeered.

Several years ago, the husband was diagnosed with ALS. This devastating disease is progressive and aggressive. We've watched his body begin to turn on him and betray him systematically. He now must use a walker, rest after the slightest exertion, and is limited in the places he can frequent as everywhere he goes must be handicapped accessible. Not once has he complained or had a 'my life is so tough' or 'why me' attitude. He talks openly about the changes he is experiencing and considers himself lucky to be able to prepare for the inevitable and say goodbye to those he cares about. We're planning on a cruise to the Maritime Provinces in 2011, and he will join us if he is able. He has not stopped living in anticipation of his demise, but has instead allowed himself to cherish what he has left.

And so it occurs to me that if there is a shortage of heroes maybe we're not looking in the right places. Why choose people we hardly know because of outward appearance, wealth, or the ability to throw a football, or hit a baseball when heroes like our friend are all around us? Come to think of it, why look beyond ourselves , why look to others for heroes when each of us has the power to be one?