Cowboy

I didn't want to put this in with my other two recent posts. I think Cowboy deserves a section all his own.

I met Cowboy several years ago when I started driving/volunteering with a nonprofit called Mobile Loaves and Fishes. I met Cowboy at Tent City and we became friends. I and my friend from church, Tommy, started going to Tent City once a month to grill out with the homeless people there and to fellowship. We always grilled at Cowboy's camp. We never did start the Bible study that we talked about. We simply hung out. Occasionally, someone would ask us to pray or ask a question. Most of all, we were simply friends.

When the 2010 flood wiped out Tent City, I helped Cowboy and his wife, Rhonda Lee, find their beloved pets and salvage what they could from their home. Luckily, Cowboy and Rhonda Lee found housing and had a warm, dry, safe place to sleep.

We stayed in touch for a while. I would pick Cowboy up and go get something to eat. I would come visit and hang out for a little bit. Rhonda Lee didn't like hanging out with us much, but she enjoyed me being there and I think even enjoyed me getting Cowboy out her hair every now and again!

He had a dog named T. He was a good, sweet, big boy!

Cowboy was probably in his 60-70s. He was a character. He was my friend.

Then, I got cancer. He called every now and again, but I never answered. Every once in a while, I thought about calling him, but never got around to it. Too busy or too tired or too something.

While still fighting my own battle, I found out he had been diagnosed with cancer as well. He did not want to go to the hospital, though. He did not trust doctors and did not want treatment.

I kept meaning to call him, but something more important always came up.

I thought about him less and less often.

This past Sunday, I found out he passed away. No one knows exactly when. My heart broke. I hadn't seen him in over a year, but now I found myself thinking about him constantly and missing our silly little chats. I miss him telling me the same story again for the umpteenth time. I miss my friend.

I felt...not guilty...but disappointed and ashamed of myself. The last time he called me, I looked at the phone, saw who it was, and didn't answer, thinking I'd call him back later. Later never came.

When I got home from church, I called his number, hoping and praying that somehow, the person who told me Cowboy had died was somehow mistaken, that I still had a chance to make it right. The number never rang. A recorded voice said the customer was not taking calls. I sent a text. I never got a response.

I have a bad habit of not answering calls from friends right away because I am in the middle of doing something else. Problem is, I too often forget to call back. A friend called the day before and I did not answer. I was in the middle of working on a report for work. I didn't call him back until God brought him to mind while I was talking to God on Sunday after church.

God told me not to feel guilty, but to learn from this. I know relationships are more important than busyness, but I have not been living as if I believed that. God told me to make sure I am a friend to those whom I call friends.

That day, I called all the friends I have put off recently, including the one whose call I didn't take the day before. Whatever else I planned to do could wait. Nothing was more important than talking to my friends.

It was so nice talking to a few people I haven't talked to in a while. I was still feeling down, though, because of how I ignored Cowboy and missed my chance to tell him that he was important to me. I started to reminisce about my time at Tent City. I really do miss it, but never got to make of it what I had hoped.

My friend, Tommy called while I was thinking such thoughts. We talked about our time at Tent City and Tommy almost made me cry. It's as if he knew exactly what I needed to hear. We talked about God's plan vs. our own and following God's lead. We talked about how we were ministering in Tent City even if we never had a formal Bible study. We were fellowshipping. We were living God's love. I forgot how important that could be. I realized that maybe, just maybe, Cowboy knew, even if we hadn't talked in a long time, that I really did care about him.

I lost my friend to cancer. This time, though, I do not have survivor's guilt. Instead, I have living regret. I feel at peace about his passing, though, and am confident that he is at peace as well. I still love him and am grateful for the time we did get to spend together.

This is Cowboy, real name Jack, but very few were fortunate enough to be trusted with his real name. This was taken around Thanksgiving 2009 when a big group of us went to celebrate with a big feast and Christmas gifts.

This was Cowboy's camp at Tent City.

The May 2010 flood at Tent City. Cowboy's camp is by the blue tarp in the right corner.

Rhonda Lee trying to find her babies after the flood. We found most of them.

 

 

I started getting sick almost immediately after going to Tent City after the flood. The city had already condemned it and we were told not to go. When we insisted, we were told to wear rubber boots and a mask. I wore boots, but took off the mask because it got too hot. Cowboy and Rhonda Lee didn't want to wear a mask at all. Cowboy had his cowboy boots on and he said that was good enough.

 

I can never prove it, but I always blamed this moment for causing my cancer since I started developing the cough almost immediately after this day. The cough was a sign of the cancer. My fault for not wearing the mask like I was told to do. I simply assumed that was bureaucratic BS because they had been trying to get the homeless out of this area for years, but there was always societal backlash. After the flood, it was the perfect excuse to make them leave without looking like A-holes. Turns out, they weren't just being greedy, heartless politicians. I have never regretted what we did that day and the fight we fought for their right to return to the only home they knew.

 

Cowboy didn't even try wearing a mask. He went back a few more times after I took him back initially. He got cancer, too, at about the same time as I did. Not Hodgkins Lymphoma, but cancer nonetheless. Makes me wonder.

 

I love you, Cowboy, and I will miss you until we see each other again!



Ten Month Checkup

Today I had my six week appointment with my oncologist. It's been ten months since my last treatment. I was a little reluctant to go because I have not been doing well this past six weeks and I did not want to let Dr. Meluch down. He was so proud of my progress last time.

During this six week period, I started off amazing, running my first 5K. Soon after, work started getting stressful and my dog, Bailey, whom I call my daughter and my heart, got really sick again. It broke my heart. I just knew I was going to lose her. I gave up on myself for a little while, not caring much about working out or trying to eat better.

Surprisingly, I still managed to loose two pounds. I credit the medicine because I have not been doing well taking care of myself at all!

Dr. Meluch was not disappointed one bit. When he came into the room, he asked how I was doing. I told him I was great, but admitted that a few weeks ago, I felt my throat and thought I felt a lump. He examined me like he always does and told me everything was okay. He said it is common for people who have been through what I have been through to immediately think the worst. I can hit my hand quite naturally, hurt the next day, and wonder if cancer has returned. There is no logical reason to jump to that conclusion, but it is common and normal to do so. I told him about the Women Survivors Convention and how helpful it was to hear from others and know that what I am going through is very normal. I told him about the 5K. He was proud of that.

After examining me, he told me I will more likely experience long term effects of the chemotherapy than actually getting cancer again, such as the need for my upcoming hysterectomy and the thyroid issue. I told him I have an upcoming appointment with my gynecologist to schedule the hysterectomy.

I said, speaking of my thyroid, I haven't been doing as well as I had hoped. I didn't get into the details with him, but I told him I'd been having a rough time lately and when things go bad like they have, I tend to eat!

Instead of being disappointed with me, he gave me a side hug and said he could tell I was feeling better. I had a sparkle in my eye. He said it was okay that things weren't going as well as I had hoped. It will come. It will happen. That made me feel pretty good.

When I left, I wondered a little at why he wasn't more upset with my slow progress. I realized that:

1) he's the one who told me it would take time. I'm sure he realizes better than I do the struggles with regaining a sense of normalcy and moving forward. (I saw an interview with a survivor of sexual assault recently. She said there is no such thing as getting back to who you were before the rape. Instead, you learn to find a new normal. I think the same is true for survivors of any major life changing event, including cancer.)

2) It occurred to me that a lot of people don't even try to do what their doctor tells them to do. I think he recognizes that I am trying. I trust him and know he knows more than I do about how to get healthy again.

I asked him when my one year anniversary date is, the last day of treatment or the day I got my tests and he said I was in remission. He said it was the date of my last treatment. In that case, I will be celebrating in less than two months (November 19). However, it will be some time in December before I get my next scan. I will celebrate again once I get the official word that all is still good. At that time, I will talk to him about if/when I can move back home!

Putting the Pieces Back Together

I have been asked several times if I am back to work full time yet. In spite of my best efforts to control it, I chuckle each time this question is posed. Am I back to work full time yet? Absolutely...and then some!

Work has been overwhelmingly busy. September is always my busiest month. Students return, I offer crime prevention convocations, a women's self-defense class, and work on the annual security report due October 1st. I put in a lot of hours on evenings and weekends on top of my regular shift. I have been working so much lately, my brain is starting to turn into mush. I stay focused on the task at hand rather well, but I have a very difficult time switching gears. I cannot think clearly on anything outside of the pressing work issues.

Am I working full time yet? All I do is work and sleep these days! I am drowning in too much work!

I'm not complaining, though. As time consuming as it all is, I really do enjoy it all - the safety programs, the report writing. Plus, I realize that I am super lucky to be working and have a pretty good job!

I have not always had the best attitude about work lately, though. As a matter of fact, up until a few weeks ago, I have been in a pretty dark place lately. I have been moody and on edge and ready for a fight. Even though I have felt my arguments have been just, I have gone about making my point in the complete wrong way.

It all came to a head a few weeks ago and I came close to just walking away. As a matter of fact, I made it out to the parking lot. Instead of walking to my car and driving to Texas (after going home to pick up Bailey and throw a few clothes in a suitcase), I took a long walk around campus collecting my thoughts. No matter how miserable I was at the moment, I needed that job and I needed it desperately. I have a hysterectomy planned at some point. With my health the way it has been, even if I didn't need surgery, I couldn't walk away without a game plan.

I went and talked to a friend who gave me business and personal advice. Afterward, I returned to my office and eventually sat down to have a much overdue conversation with my boss and friend.

 My boss has been in just as bad a mood as I have been and I think for many of the same reasons. We have both been through a lot lately with our lives and health. He has been ready to retire for a very long time. I have been ready to go home for a very long time, ever since the problems in my marriage came to a head over three years ago.

Anyway, I shared my burdens with him and he shared his with me. We talked for a good hour or more and during that conversation, he told me he had decided to go ahead and retire now. He did not and could not wait two more years.

I think the talk was very therapeutic for both of us. Ever since then, we have both been lighter and happier in our work. It's not that I want him to retire. Quite the contrary. He's pretty much the only boss I have ever known and I owe most, if not all of what I have become in this job to him. I think it was just good for the both of us to be honest with where we were and what we wanted for our futures.

Everyone at work thinks I'm going to leave when he does. I have told everyone that I planned on leaving even before he told me his plans. I will admit, though, his leaving does make it easier for me to leave. I promised him long ago that I would not leave until he does.

Still, he is retiring at the end of the calendar year. Because of my surgery and other commitments, I most likely will not leave until the end of the academic year. I know anything may change. God may have other plans for me and until I leave (if I do indeed leave), I will give my all to where I am right now. However, the incident a few weeks ago and the calming effect of talking it all out with my boss changed something in me. It's like I know this part of my life is coming to a close and I feel at peace for the very first time in a very long time.

Several months ago, I came across a fortune that said "You will soon make a decision about a personal issue in your life." I never keep fortunes from fortune cookies and think they are all hogwash. I liked this one, kept it in my wallet and hoped it was true. That Thursday morning, I made my decision. I may not have left at that moment, but I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that God's hand is in this and it is time for a change.

The weekend after this life-changing decision, I sat down to work on my broken pot. My sister gave me the book and the idea last year for Christmas. I worked on it sporadically since then. Sometimes, it stayed in place for months. I always seemed to come back to it when I needed centering the most, during those times when I felt too wound up and in desperate need to calm myself inside and out and focus on something outside of myself - namely on God.

When I started the project, it was difficult and time consuming trying to fit the pieces together. The more I worked on it, the easier it became to figure it out how each piece fit. On that Sunday, I glued the last pieces together.

There are a lot of holes from pieces too shattered to put back together. The cracks are visible from a great distance. It cannot hold water any longer. Still, it is the most beautiful pot I have ever seen.

Like my life - shattered pieces made whole. It can no longer fulfill its original purpose, but it is still useful for something.

I started with the base, creating a firm foundation. The rest could not stand without the foundation. I build the rest, piece by piece, from the foundation. Once the last piece was glued into place, I felt a sense of empowerment, much like that which I felt after crossing the finish line of the Women Survivors 5K a few weeks before. I am whole again! I can do anything through Him who strengthens me!

I am not sure if it was before or after the pot, but during the same time, I watched a recorded episode of Perception. My sister got me to watch the show and the character, Dr. Pierce, got me hooked. I am not a schizophrenic, but I identify with him on some level. I feel like an outsider, often overlooked by others. I am not ashamed or embarrassed by my difference. I know I have value and worth. I just don't fit in to the ordinary mold. I'm not nearly as smart as Dr. Pierce, but I do consider myself more of an intellect, think with my head more than my heart. Although a fictional and not scientific writer, I am, nonetheless, a writer as well.  Although I don't have grandiose conversations and experiences with imaginary people, I do have relationships and conversations with my characters as I am writing. I do not see them nor do I believe they are real. I have a firm grasp, I think, on reality and fantasy.

Anyway, I love that show. On one episode, a college football star undergoes a serious brain injury. He has to choose between playing and death or not playing and living. He is depressed because football is all he's ever known. What is he going to do if he doesn't play football?

At the very end of the episode, Dr. Pierce visits the boy in the hospital and gives him a college catalog. He tells the boy that something happened to him once, landing him in the hospital. He said, "I thought my life was over. All my dreams went out the window."

The boy asks what he did.

"I found a new dream," Dr. Pierce answers.

That last statement stuck with me. Although there have been good moments, overall, my life has been terrible the past three years. I have felt lost, like everything I believed in and expected out of life was ripped out from under me. I'm almost 40 years old and I feel like I have yet to truly grow up. Even though I like what I do and believe I do a good job, I feel like I have done nothing but coast through life simply following someone else's lead and taking no control of my own life or dreams.

My marriage is over. The family life I thought I would always have is gone. My childhood dreams are over. I'm too old to start trying. Besides, I no longer have any desire to be a professional drummer or a fighter pilot in the Air Force. I still want to be a writer, but there is no time for writing with my present job.

All that is behind me. The shattered pieces are getting put back into place. I am figuring out, piece by piece, the importance and worth of a firm foundation and how to trust in and rely on that foundation (my relationship with God).  I am working on building on that foundation/relationship.

I'm working on figuring out how to fill the new pot that is the new me.

It's time to find a new dream.