Rise Up, Rise Up...September 18, 2021

Rumi tells us, "You have seen my descent, now watch me rise."

A few days ago I threw my laundry down the stairs and scooted on my butt to get it. There, I took crutches and leaned to put clothes in a bag, piece by piece...and we, my laundry and myself, hobbled to the washer.

As a young girl, I remember one day lying on the floor, alone and deeply sad. Maybe it was the sadness that comes on leaving childhood...yet for whatever, a sort of throbbing and universal ache filled me.

Rise up, a whisper came...remember this moment, Julie, it is important. This motion, this act...

...we rise. And she did, yes I rose.

So this week I maneuvered my small laundry room, propping one crutch against the washer, hopping to put the laundry in, shirt by shirt, towel by towel. Grab the crutch, wobble or fall just a bit.

And a voice came...

...rise up, Julie, we rise.

My days right now are filled with up and down, often hugging a chair or a stool. On more than one occasion, I have been lying on a door stoop, stuck for some moments to wonder if I have the strength to stand, sometimes in tears.

But rise, Julie...I have seen your descent and now you rise, we rise up.

When my tumor came looking for me, I remembered that small girl, the young and older woman, the time in between. When it was too painful to walk, I crawled to the bathroom during the night, not wanting to wake Peter.

My heart screamed my God, my God. Oh my God.

And a whisper came...rise up, dear one. It might take some time and that is okay but look to the skies and rise up.

In the hospital and especially chatty, chock full of pain meds and post-surgery euphoria...I most happily told my nurses and doctors and anyone who would listen that I am a ballerina and a skiier.

My words sought to reassure. We fall and then rise and my doctors and nurses smiled big and believed me. Yes, she will be okay. She will be just fine.

Upon leaving the hospital Peter laughed and asked if my medical folks knew how many years it had been since I skiied or danced as that young ballerina.

It doesn't matter, I laughed back to him, it doesn't matter...

...for as Maya Angelou beckons, "Still like air, I'll rise."