My Birthday Gift

This will only take a second, she assured me. But then she paused. And then she tilted her head sideways.

A few hours later and I was standing at the ultrasound office, paper in hand.

"Lump 12:00" written across the top.

The sweet old lady at the front desk apologized and said the person who does the breast ultrasounds had to leave for the day. I'd have to come back tomorrow morning. My Birthday.

All last night I couldn't sleep. I just kept starring at Thomas and the kids sleeping. I kept smelling their foreheads and kissing the tips of their noses. I wasn't scared, I was grateful.

This morning, wearing nothing but a too-big blue hospital robe, perched on the medical table, the ultrasonographer asked if I was afraid. To my left a plastic brochure-holder presented pamphlets on choosing the perfect wig during chemo.

"Honestly, not really." I answered.

"During these times, some women start to panic and think about regrets and life decisions. It can be a lot," she continued.

"Hmmm. Not me. I don't have any regrets," I assured her.

I scanned myself for regrets. Thomas and I have dedicated our entire lives to each other, our little family, and a life filled with art and nature. We set down a lust for materialism and chased, instead, after abundance of the heart. We pointed our sacred compass in the direction of mud pies and kite flying and collecting snail shells after sunset with flashlights. Regrets? I couldn't think of any.

After she was done imaging my breast, she left the room to share with the doctor. Moments later, she returned and said she needed to do it again. Something looked a little funny and they wanted to take a closer look.

My book.

In that instant it hit me. My book.

"Are you OK?" she asked again.

"I'm, yes, I'm OK."

She scanned my breast again, clicking on the machine, zooming in, pushing down hard, harder.

She handed me a three-year-old US Weekly magazine and left the room again. I looked down at the gossip soaked pages and wondered if there was a pen anywhere in the room. Suddenly, there were no road blocks. I simply had to get it out. Suddenly, nothing else mattered.

After a handful of minutes the door opened, "You can get dressed! It's nothing! You are all clear!"

When I walked into the waiting room and saw my little family sitting there, giggling and chatting, waiting for me, I burst into tears. The weight of it all, pouring out.

Thomas came rushing over, terrified, and I could barely speak. "No, no, no," I whispered, "Tears of joy. Tears of joy."

We all stood there for a few minutes, crying and hugging.

My Birthdays have always been overwhelming. I think about my biological lineage. I wonder if they remember that I was born on this day; or if they even remember if I was born at all. I think about Charlotte, the baby Thomas and I said goodbye to.  I remember the night of my 21st Birthday, finding out that I was pregnant with Braedon.

And this year, the heaviness in my heart is palpable. The reminder that time is an illusion, and the things that whisper to us, and rattle our bones when we sleep, those are the things we really can't ignore.

Next week, I am going to release a kickstarter project that I have been working on for over three years. Not because it took three years, but because until this morning, while waiting for my results, with the buzz of the air conditioning and the shuffle of nurses' feet outside the door, and the gown sticking to my jelly-covered sore breast... Until then, I thought I had time.

(if you want to make sure you don't miss the announcement, click here)

The Soul Sister Circle // The Estuary Project

 

In the next few months, I am opening my hands and releasing two gorgeous projects that I have been working on for over a year.

The excitement and anticipation is palpable deep down into my core.

(Can you feel it?)

If you want to be the very first to know, and get totally awesome FREEBIES, sign up here

These Things I Had Long Forgotten

So I had this film camera once. A Pentax K-1000. For my first two years of high school I pretty much took it everywhere. I'd spend hours in the school's developing lab; no matter how many times I washed them, my clothes always still kind of smelled like developer, or fixer. And then one day, I guess I just stopped using it. And I guess one day became five, and then five became ten and then before I knew it, 17 years went by and I found my old camera tucked away in an attic box. Untouched.

I brought it downstairs, and, without saying a word to anyone, sat by an open window. I brought it up to my eye, and pressed the shutter button, not expecting anything. Click. Then I advanced the film lever, and felt the familiar tug of film inside. My heart. There was film inside. Old film.

After we sent it to Richard's to be developed, Thomas and I joked about what might be on that roll. Old crushes. School dances. Field hockey games.

Today we got the email saying our film scans were ready to be downloaded. We were on the road, and I made us pull over on the side of the highway so I could look right away. I couldn't wait to see this crazy expired film. The goofy friends from Freshman year.

When I clicked on the folder, and these images appeared, there was nothing that could have stopped my eyes from welling up.

It was 1996, a tiny maple sugar town in Canada. My sweet, beyond kind, ma tante Claire-Helene. I forgot I even ever took these, and honestly, even as I look at them tonight, I still don't remember.

But I remember her. The way her skin always smelled like baby powder, the way she laughed at all of my silly stories even though she didn't know any English at all. I remember one time she made me scrambled eggs and all of the eggs she cracked had two yokes. I remember a small cuckoo clock right next to her fridge went off just as she was showing me the small double yokes sliding into the bottom of the bowl. I remember the picture of her husband stuck on her fridge. She touched it with her crooked finger tip each time she walked by. I remember she had really awful arthritis, and that's why her fingers were so crooked. I remember she was always making something with her hands. Cross-stitch, or slippers, or tissue box holders that looked like doll houses. I remember one time she laughed so hard that she snorted. I remember she had the finest, softest hairs on her cheeks.

I remember loving her so hard, it hurt.

Tears rolling down my face, it still does.

When I sent this old film out, I never thought I'd get back 17 year old images of her, ma tante, now long gone.

There are zero words in the human language for my overwhelming gratitude.

These images have not been re-touched. I opened them in LR but sat there, frozen. She is perfect. These are perfect. Exactly how they are.

Her. Always.

So much I could write.

But she alone is a poem.

A ten-million-thousand-billion-words-all-at-once poem.

That I could never come close to reciting.

Him

A simple light test on an engagement session. But while I was editing just now, it stopped me in my tracks. I don't photograph him enough. I don't. And I don't shout from the rooftops just how incredible he is. This man has taught me so much about love, forgiveness, courage and peace. Every single day, I choose him, with a heart overwhelmed with gratitude. I kept debating whether or not to share this on here, and I might delete it later, but for now it stays.