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Wednesday, January 7, 2015

Eat the peanut brittle...

My friend has a brain tumor. This happened: she worked incredibly hard, innovatively, teaching math in classrooms and online, mastering instructional design and technology, gathering data and perfecting what she did, until she could show that students can learn math online, often better than in the classroom. She chaired committees with intense organization and productivity. She took on a five year project with me that influenced the college's re-accreditation - you know, the ones that wake you up at 3am, heart pounding - and propped me up when we had little idea of how to go on, or tell unpopular truths in changing a culture.

She did all this for years and years, also supporting and caring for a disabled husband, a mother with Parkinson's, a daughter with mental illness challenges, and her own bad knees. In mid-December, at the end of the fall semester, she officially retired, seeking the rest and reward that is meant to bring. On December 16th, we gave her the small luncheon she requested instead of a large party, and gifted her with bags of art supplies; she is a math teacher who paints and draws beautifully. Last weekend, she was admitted to ICU with a large tumor, causing blood to accumulate on her brain.

Getting this news on Monday made me feel worse than I had felt all throughout my cancer adventure. I never once asked "why me?" but this has me screaming "why her?" I don't know what is going to happen next, as if I ever did, but something did happen.

My dear friend Liza sent us back from North Carolina with the Christmas gift of the most delicious homemade peanut brittle. I ate a few pieces when we got home and thought, whoa - that is just too good. I'm going to begin this new year with some restraint, some constraint (those "ain't" words...) and ration out that peanut brittle. Something that good needs to be controlled.

Monday, after hearing about my friend's hospitalization, I ate the peanut brittle. A few pieces; not all. But I gave myself permission to have that pleasure, a pleasure given by another friend. This is the only possible lesson - enjoy all the good you have, especially the good that is a loving gift, because the time comes when you can't, and you don't know when that time will be. This lesson so often needs retelling. Eat the peanut brittle.

2 comments:

  1. Dearest Cheryl,
    My thoughts and prayers are with your friend and with you. My heart sank when I read about this and immediately went to when I found out my mom was diagnosed with a brain tumor last November. Before she was scheduled to begin treatment to reduce the size we were told that it had to be removed, we were in a state of shock. When she came out of a 20-hour surgery it was all I could do to hold things back because I needed to be strong for my brother and my dad, it was hell. There were several times when I thought we were going to lose her. You were going through your adventure and I did not want to burden you so I know exactly the feelings that you have expressed so well. Last Spring, after a tumultuous time a miracle happened, my mom reversed course and now she is almost exactly like the pre-tumor mom, you would never know what happened. Yes, eat the peanut brittle and for all of your readers make sure that you express your love to the ones you care about because life is precious, as are you.

    PT

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  2. Amen to that, Cheryl and Philip. I think that "Eat the Peanut Brittle" should be a mantra.

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