Showing Up
Yesterday as I was having my morning coffee I thought about the things that you don’t see coming. It might be unpleasant or unhappy news, conversely it could be something exciting or pleasant. And then shortly afterwards I received a telephone call that I didn’t see coming.
The call was a reminder of an upcoming medical appointment – that was something I could foresee. It was the added wording of the message that threw me for a loop. Language that anyone who has had cancer doesn’t want to hear. Language that anyone going through the labyrinth of medical appointments, hospitals, tests and terminology doesn’t want to hear. At the mention that after this procedure and that exam “there would be no biopsy done that day.” I froze. I’d had no idea that a biopsy was even being considered at this stage. Was this helpful voice on the other end of the phone just outlining the usual procedure that would be followed? We chatted a little more and while the woman might have thought she’d put my mind at ease, I expect she disconnected wondering if she had compounded the thoughts that had already been swirling within me for the past month. The following few hours were spent running every possibility through my mind. If a biopsy should be thought necessary for further clarification I absolutely want to have that done. There is no question about that. I just hadn’t given it due consideration.
What that phone conversation did was remove the comforting bubble wrap I’d swaddled myself in – the self-protection that allowed me to believe that whatever it is my body is doing that it ought not to be doing and certainly doing without my permission though with my participation. It forced me to seriously address the fact that this is something more serious than I had hoped.
I have no way of knowing what is happening until I see a specialist who can read diagnostics and decide what has caused this latest anomaly. No amount of worry, stress or overthinking - no matter how natural response that is - will change or affect the outcome.
I read this meme on Instagram last night and saved it so I would remember the wisdom.
That overthinking, over analyzing, that worry serves only one purpose – it steals peace of mind. It allows no room for joy, or laughter. It takes up precious time that could be spent with loved ones or pursuing hobbies that offer pleasurable moments. It replaces gratitude with fear and anger.
As I went out this morning to mail parcels for Easter to loved ones far away, I saw a robin sitting on the car. It then flew to the iron shepherds crook that sits in the garden, the one that holds a very old, weathered birdhouse. Every spring I watch a chickadee family assume residence and I wonder if this robin has decided it’s the ideal spot to raise a new family. The house is small and the hole is tiny. Ideal for a chickadee. A robin not so much. As I watch, I think to myself “you’ll never fit in there.” And yet. Do I know for a fact that this is not possible?
As I’m writing this, the robin is still flying about, pensively watching every time it lands – on the roof of the car, up in the tree under which sits that birdhouse. Back to the top of that shepherds crook as if staking a claim to tenancy. It isn’t overthinking the probability of making it work. It isn’t second guessing the decision it seems to have made. There is no time, there is “now” and getting a nest ready for nature to take its course.
Robins build their nests outdoors. They are “not cavity nesters” according to Emily Hannemann of the Birds and Blooms website which leads me to wonder why this bird has spent so much time hanging about this birdhouse and in fact, this house today.
Thehumblehare.co.uk had this to say:
For many of us, the robin has come to represent a spiritual connection with loved ones who have passed away. It’s a common belief that a robin appearing nearby may be a sign that a departed soul is watching over you. This sentiment is captured in the popular saying, “When robins appear, loved ones are near.”
That robin has certainly caught my attention. No matter what the next few weeks or months hold, I’ll face it one step at a time and take my cues from that robin whether it’s building a future or its presence is a reminder that though I can’t see it, I still have that bubble wrap around me. I can let go of whatever is out of my control. And I’ll still show up. Every day in every way. There’s comfort in that.