the family

Mine is a family of prayers, though only in crisis. Otherwise they hold lightly to the Catholicism with which we were all raised. Now they are praying. Now they are offering to drive from Chicago just to drop an ancient bottle of holy water in my mailbox in case I "need it" before my meeting with the surgeon on Monday. It is all I can do not to say, "bring me the water if you need to," for it hasn’t the least bearing on my own peace of mind. There is kindness and fervor and desperation in these sudden prayers. Old habits die hard for a people with few coping mechanisms. So prayers it is. I’m sure dusty, cracked rosaries have been unearthed and that the requests for cancer-free biopsies are coming fast and furious. After all, What Else Can One Do? I don’t believe in the prayers or the holy water, but I do believe in the love behind them. Between the husband, my family and my friends, it's a wonder my heart hasn't burst yet. In a way this isn’t just my cancer anymore. I gave them a part in it and it is really all about whatever makes it easier. So pray if it helps. But me, I’ll be banking on science and love and gratitude.