Today, Andy and I celebrate 36 years of marriage; May 22, 1976. I got to wondering what that looks like in numbers:
~ 13,140 days
~ 1,872 weeks
~ 430 months
~ 1 apartment duplex
~ 2 mobil homes
~ 2 houses
~ 5 Chicago concerts
~ 2 dogs
~ 2 cats
~ 1 truck
~ 2 vans
~ 8 cars
~ 5 surgeries (all for Amy!)
~ 2 kidney stones - Andy
~3 churches
~6 ministers
~3 jobs for Andy
~3 jobs for Amy
~ 1 retirement
~2 parents still living
~ 2 parents deceased
~ 2 sisters
~ 3 brothers
~ 3 nieces
~ 8 nephews
~ 2 precious daughters
~ 1 amazing son-in-law
~ 2 glorious granddaughters
~ 1 joyous grandson
~ 4 Spurs' championships (sorry, I just couldn't leave THAT out !!)
~ 5 years in Huntsville
~ 6 years in Brookshire
~ 25 years here in Pleasanton
~ more friends than we can count
~ 1 set of vows
~ 1 marriage.
Monday, May 21, 2012
Monday, May 07, 2012
This one thing I do....
Every year on this day, I think of Marilyn Tello....
Mammograms are NO fun; in fact, they stink!! On top of that, I am sick to death of doctors, machines, and stripping down to my skivies in "public". I hate it, I hate the fear and the thought of starting a new set of procedures all over again. I would cancel in a heartbeat - if not for Marilyn.
Now, cancer does not run in my family - thankfully!! I've always had clear mammograms with the exception of one little, tiny calicification that was removed a while back. But still... the thought of "what if" hangs over me this morning as I prepare to drive over to my appointment. The place is actually lovely, and I'll get a flower when I leave. Soft music, warm hands, smiling faces. Still....
I taught with Marilyn, and she was a force of nature. Quiet, but PRESENT. Everyone looked at her teaching with such respect and admiration, and her life was being with children.
And then, we heard she was sick.
She kept teaching, kept living, kept fighting.
She kept getting sicker. And sicker. And sicker.
It's funny how one moment in time can stick with you and break
your heart all over again. I have three such memories of Marilyn. One was the day she walked into the building for a visit. I hadn't seen her in a while, and I hope with all my heart that my face did not reflect what I saw; she was dying.
Erin had been taught by Marilyn as a first grader, and when she saw her that day after school, she ran full blast into the arms of a woman she loved, only to plant her little blond head right into the area where Marilyn had had her mastectomy!! It took Marilyn's breath away, but Erin never knew it. Marilyn looked at me and smiled, and patted Erin's back, all the while about to collapse from the impact. Such composure!!
The other moment that is frozen in my mind is the last time I saw her. She was hospitalized, and I went to see her. Signs were posted all over the door, and I almost didn't go in, but a family member saw me and told her that I was there. She asked me to come in. Had to mask up and put on the gown but when I went in, there she was, smiling and holding out her hand for me. Gracious as always, calm in the face of the biggest storm she would ever face.
That day was many, many years ago. Her daughter is grown with a family of her own. Her loving husband has a wife now, and probably has retired from his own teaching career. Life has gone on without her, but I truly doubt I am the only person who ever remembers her.
So, in just a bit, I will drive over to my appointment. I'll have lunch out, and do a little shopping on the way home. Tonight, I'll get together with dear friends and watch the Spurs. Tomorrow will pass, and the next day, and the next.
But next year, on this day - I'll think of Marilyn Tello.
Mammograms are NO fun; in fact, they stink!! On top of that, I am sick to death of doctors, machines, and stripping down to my skivies in "public". I hate it, I hate the fear and the thought of starting a new set of procedures all over again. I would cancel in a heartbeat - if not for Marilyn.
Now, cancer does not run in my family - thankfully!! I've always had clear mammograms with the exception of one little, tiny calicification that was removed a while back. But still... the thought of "what if" hangs over me this morning as I prepare to drive over to my appointment. The place is actually lovely, and I'll get a flower when I leave. Soft music, warm hands, smiling faces. Still....
I taught with Marilyn, and she was a force of nature. Quiet, but PRESENT. Everyone looked at her teaching with such respect and admiration, and her life was being with children.
And then, we heard she was sick.
She kept teaching, kept living, kept fighting.
She kept getting sicker. And sicker. And sicker.
It's funny how one moment in time can stick with you and break
your heart all over again. I have three such memories of Marilyn. One was the day she walked into the building for a visit. I hadn't seen her in a while, and I hope with all my heart that my face did not reflect what I saw; she was dying.
Erin had been taught by Marilyn as a first grader, and when she saw her that day after school, she ran full blast into the arms of a woman she loved, only to plant her little blond head right into the area where Marilyn had had her mastectomy!! It took Marilyn's breath away, but Erin never knew it. Marilyn looked at me and smiled, and patted Erin's back, all the while about to collapse from the impact. Such composure!!
The other moment that is frozen in my mind is the last time I saw her. She was hospitalized, and I went to see her. Signs were posted all over the door, and I almost didn't go in, but a family member saw me and told her that I was there. She asked me to come in. Had to mask up and put on the gown but when I went in, there she was, smiling and holding out her hand for me. Gracious as always, calm in the face of the biggest storm she would ever face.
That day was many, many years ago. Her daughter is grown with a family of her own. Her loving husband has a wife now, and probably has retired from his own teaching career. Life has gone on without her, but I truly doubt I am the only person who ever remembers her.
So, in just a bit, I will drive over to my appointment. I'll have lunch out, and do a little shopping on the way home. Tonight, I'll get together with dear friends and watch the Spurs. Tomorrow will pass, and the next day, and the next.
But next year, on this day - I'll think of Marilyn Tello.
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