Friday, May 31, 2013


"Calm seas before a shower" by Hilary J England
oil on canvas, 8" x 11" x 1, 2013

My mind keep returning to the's where I feel closest to God for whatever reason, but when my mind is under serious, ongoing stress, it seems to return there, to the peaceful cool of the salty air, the smooth resistance of the sand, the majesty of the enormous vistas, and the sound of the waves, either lapping or pounding the water's edge.  Today, the waves were gentle, the breezes, soft.

Mark is still in the hospital.  It doesn't appear that the chemo has had any effect on the tumors, which is disheartening.  They are trying to get him strong enough to come home, and then in another week, we will have to make a decision:  go forward with more treatment, or not.  This is an excruciating decision, and one that can never have a "right time."  The implications are obvious, and it seems surreal that from St. Patrick's Day to now, this situation has surfaced, mushroomed, and has sucked our entire lives into its vortex.  I don't know what to do or say to be of support or help, since it is Mark's life, it is ultimately his decision.  I support either decision, and will help him through it either way.

So, like water dripping from a faucet, I feel the tension in the air, the catch of breath before exhalation.  I am optimistic to get through these trials, as it is the only thought that moves me forward.  This too shall pass...happy days will come again, one day, soon. I feel that is certain, I hope on that, I count on that, I dream on that, I live on that.

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