December 31, 2011
I don’t remember ever having a story read to me as a child. I don’t remember any children’s books in our house. My dad was an avid reader. My mom may have wanted to read, too. I don’t know. She was probably too busy and tired from working a full time job outside of the home, while raising four girls, as well as taking care of her retarded sister in our home. Attending my sister’s high school functions, both parents were “Band-Aids” for the school band. All while keeping an immaculate five bedroom, three bath, tri-level home with a two tiered backyard garden and a pool.
My mom was a rock star.
And, my dad could read books thicker than my right arm. There must have been books in the house. I just don’t remember seeing them. I discovered a love for children’s books somewhere between becoming a teen and becoming a mother. Yet, long before ever collecting these fairy tale books, I have always known about this one guy.
The Knight in Shining Armor.
It occurs to me since being diagnosed with cancer, that I have always wanted a Knight in Shining Armor of my own. I have always been waiting for this knight to show up. I knew that all I needed to do was pull a few strings and my Knight would finally arrive.
Pulling on the pity strings. Oh, I knew how to do this.
But, this guy just never showed up.
Having cancer gives great pause. My life does not stop here. It merely pauses. I have needed this pause to get the story straight. It is time I tell myself the truth.
There are no Knights in Shining Armor.
It is kind of like the day when my mom told me the truth about Santa Clause. She couldn’t imagine that I still believed. After all, I was eight years old. Oh, I believed.
I sobbed. For hours.
Now, I am telling myself this other truth. About the knight. But, I am not sobbing. I’m over him. Besides, if there were a knight in shining armor, then, he hasn’t seen battle or his armor would be all dirty and blood stained. I should have figured that one out about Santa, too. All of those Santas in the malls with their clean red suits. A sure sign they weren’t real. They didn’t have a stitch of soot on those suits. Those Santas never saw a chimney. How did I miss that? A knight without dirt and blood has never seen a battle and who needs an inexperienced knight when it is time to battle for your life? No.
A Knight in Shining Armor is not coming. And even if he did. He can’t be my hero.
Maybe all of my life I have created situations so that a knight could come and save me. Similar scenarios would play over and over again like pages of favorite books. Moments where we gasp for the heroine, and fear for her life. Always her hand reaching and ready for the moment the knight enters and swoops her up and away from so much strife and grief. I couldn’t figure out why my life would play this loop, and the knight never showed.
Until now.
Well, really, until a year and a half ago. Where, instead of a knight showing up, I had a lump make an appearance. This is when it really begins to occur to me that there are no knights. My little loop of self pity just got serious. Pulling on pity strings can be dangerous. It’s time to put away the fairy tale stories and recognize one thing.
I have to be my own knight.
It is New Years Eve (day). And when most people are making resolutions for a new year, I am taking a long hard look at this little story that is my life. This resolution of mine is more like a revolution. And, for me, this is huge.
Yesterday I read a quote by Deepak Choppra, M.D.
~”Complete healing depends on our ability to stop struggling.”
Yes. I get this. I have sensed this from the moment Dr. B entered the room and told our dazed faces that it was breast cancer. The nurses seemed to immediately go into a new vocabulary for me. Not just medical terms that I had yet to learn, but the most common terminology associated with the word-CANCER. Words like: battle, fight, war against…
Words a Knight in Shining Armor might use.
Words we might hear him yell, that is, if we could understand him from within that armor. Words that I refuse to use. Now, this makes more sense. I don’t need this knight. And, I don’t need his dang battle cries. For, they would keep me battling. Struggling.
This fairy tale ends today. And it is no New Year’s Resolution. It just is.
Acceptance. Okay. So, I have cancer. So what? I will mount my own white horse and trot along this path of spirituality. I believe that is what illness truly is. A pause. A path, if we allow it, into a deeper sense of self and purpose. Of spirit. Spirituality. And I accept. Me and my horse, a white one, of course, will follow it. Without fear.
For I have an armor of my own. Though, it is used, dirtied, bloodied and dented. It is an armor of truth. Of soul. Of Spirit.
And, of love.
Right now I am looking at Trevor’s “Goddess Guidance Oracle Cards” by Doreen Virtue, PH.D. Yes, I borrowed them again. With their bent corners. A couple of them chewed around the edges from “Halo”, a dog he once had and loved. These are like the fairy tale books I never had. I shuffle them and pull one out when it feels right.
I pull out Ostara. So beautifully illustrated by Wendy Andrew.
The goddess of fertility.
“It is the perfect time for you to start new projects, access new ideas, and give birth to new conditions.” I swear, this is the card that comes up. On New Year’s Eve.
Give birth to new conditions?
Okay. I will birth a condition of new health. Good health.
And, I won’t wait up for that knight.
Pulling on the Pity Strings 