The rawness of childhood cancer...

TRIGGER WARNING....

RAW THOUGHTS

 I don't talk about the negative part of childhood cancer much.

This year, however I have decided it is time to put it all out there.

I want to first say, I am thankful for all that has been done for me

in order to save my life back in a day that childhood cancer 

was a death sentence.

With that being said, there is lots a 5 year old remembers 

and listening to a podcast of other childhood cancer survivors,

I know that someone out there may need to hear this one day.

Believe it or not, back then I did not talk much.

Mom said when they took out my kidney, they opened my mouth.

Being in a hospital for 12 weeks without coming home

two months after your 5th birthday changes you.

I can remember the fear in my parents and family's eyes.

I didn't want to hurt them, so I kept quiet.

Yet I too was terrified. 

There were no ports back then, so chemotherapy 

went into your veins.

I hate having to explain when having blood drawn or an IV

that they won't be able to get a vein in a certain place

because it is a damaged vein.

Makes me sound like a drug addict...

so then I explain all about the childhood cancer.

I hate having to give that big story.

Then there are the lasting effects of it all.

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder?

What was that in 1968?

I did what many after war did, didn't talk about it.

Yet there were days I laid in my parents bed,

pushing and prodding on my stomach because I was sure

there was another cancerous  tumor lurking around there.

When because of the chemo, I had a yeast infection,

the drama and screaming about needing a suppository 

in an area that your parents told you no one should touch.

Being a teenager and realizing your clothing did not fit

the way your friends clothing did.

Because you had an empty area where your kidney had once been

and scoliosis which made your spine curved.

Standing in front of my parents mirror and realizing

that I may never tuck in a shirt because of this.

Feeling different from others.

I laughed at it all.

Yet, inside myself, I had insecurities that most

children did not have.

There is more....

Again, I am not bitter about having had cancer

as I believe I am who I am because of this history

and I pretty much am happy about who I have become.

However I want to preserve these things here

as one day I will not be here to tell the stories.

Things about my Dad

 My Dad, Freddie Joseph Collins.

My Dad was born in 1918.

He was a WWII veteran who was shot in Okinawa.

He said that day was the best day of his life.

He knew he was going to die or go home.

Another story I told a friend recently that made the hair 

stand up on his arms.

Dad was shot in his leg, went in and out one leg and lodged 

in the second leg. As he lay on the ground bleeding,

the Japanese soldier came up to him, gun pointed.

My Dad made eye contact with him, he knew he was going to die.

The soldier put down his gun and walked away.

My Dad once told me that human contact is stronger than any war.

At this time my Dad had two children and my Mom was pregnant for the third.

Because that soldier spared my Dad's life,

he and Momma went on to have 4 more children.

I being the last, the baby.

Daddy was 45 when I was born.

He had many occupations but his main occupation 

was professional photographer back when not everyone owned a camera.

Because of his was injury and health reasons, he was forced

to retire when I was three years old.

I have one professional baby photo of myself taken by my Daddy.

He was bitter about not being able to work anymore and aside

from one photo taken because my sister begged,

he never held a camera again, never took another photo.

Because he was a stay home Dad and Mom worked at Randolph's restaurant,

the three last kiddo's were unconventionally  raised by Daddy.

He put all his entrepreneur skills into these three last girls.

We had homemade meals every day. 

Home made bread, all food from scratch from his garden and

the seafood he got when he was in his boat most days.

I was 5 when I was diagnosed with childhood cancer of a kidney.

Back then, 1968 things were very different.

That is for another blog.

He had trouble ever leaving me in that hospital ward.

Parents were not able to stay with their children over night

but my Dad refused to leave. 

He would come back up after all other parents had left 

to the sound of crying children.

He would rock me and put me to bed and 

head to other children crying and rock and tuck them in.

My Dad, a big burly man with the kindest heart.

My Dad died when I was 20. 

The one thing he always wanted is to live to raise all his children.

He accomplished this and was able to see me as a nurse.

I moved back home after nursing school because he was very sick

and not the same man he was when we were young.

He would become angry sometimes unlike the Dad I grew up with.

Yet, there was still a lot of him there as well.

I worked nights and about 4:30 each morning he would call up at the hospital.

"What do you want for breakfast?" 

No matter what it was, he cooked it.

Homemade biscuits, friend pork chops, when I got home it was ready for me.

I would then go lay in he and Mom's kingsize bed and sleep until 

it was time for supper.

To say I was spoiled would be an understatement.

After a month in the hospital he died at the age of 63.

I remember thinking he was old, had a good life.

Now that I am pushing 60, I think, he was so young.

I could go on and on about my Daddy,

I have to stop somewhere...

If you have elderly people in your life, go and talk to them.

Let this be the year that you find out the stories that will be important

to you when they pass.

We are at a time where it is simple to make a video of these gems

telling their stories.

You will not only be glad you did it for yourself but so many are so lonely.

You will make their day, their week, maybe their year!

We all have a story...

 IF you know me or follow my blog, you know...

I am all about the story.

One of my biggest fears is that my grandgirls will not know

who I truly am, way deep down in my heart and soul.

I want, when I am gone and they think of Mumsie and her Cottage,

they are brought back to a place where everything was simple,

where we could cook or create art,

where you are never "double digit" old meaning you only

have anniversaries of your 9th birthday.

Where no matter how old you were, at night you slept in my bed,

no matter how crowded, and Mumsie rubbed you and sang prayers

and songs until you drifted off.

That no matter how old you were, when you woke up

you were rocked. Even when your feet dragged the ground.

When you visit the Cottage for the first time, one

of those girls remember the tour they took so many friends on 

and the stories they told as they did it.

I have journaled most of my life, blogged for 15 years.

Yet, even with all of that, I feel the need to leave more behind.

More stories, funny things they have said, done.

I have also begun to leave stories in my handwriting

behind things in the Cottage that have a story.

Whether it be the "ghost story" of my Dad's childhood photo

or why I have ancestor photos hanging on my walls that

are not blood related but once I have them they become family.

I have this crazy fear that not enough of my story has been told.

This has been a year for our family. 

Between illness, deaths we have lost a lot.

The comedy to my story has passed,

 another, a relationship that was not completely mended that won't 

happen on this Earth.

I look at my siblings, the 5 of us that are left and I realize

we are going to loose each other and it stabs me each time.

We have gone above and beyond to spend more time together

this year as loosing our oldest sister has us realizing this.

I have a story with each of these siblings, all different.

Bear with me this year as I work on leaving a little bit more of myself

with those I love,

I have realized that the next generations may not want to read 

20 something journals to find out who I am.

However, they will be online and one day may come across

these blogs. May their hearts be happy of memories

shared here.

Happy New Year my friends!

Handwriting still important

 I received a Christmas card handwritten

And before I looked at the address, I knew whom it was from. 

Not because her signature was signed at the end of a beautiful

  love letter but simply because I had seen that same scripted

Writing for the last 40 years.

I was filled with loving feelings as so many times, this very 

same writing can be found in a yearbook, a scrapbook,

Or in another card I have saved. 

It was from one of my two besties since second grade. 

Which brings me to the reason for this blog.

Many schools are no longer spending much time teaching 

Script writing, something that is almost as unique as our fingerprints.

I can remember,  just as I am sure you can, 

The day your teacher explained we were going to start learning script.

 The excitement for me was there just as when

She told us we could start using ink pens.

As each of my grandgirls began learning it in second grade

The Cottage was a place where they perfected their skills

Almost as though it was an another art form they had learned.

I know the world as a I have known is changing.

I understand that I am considered the “old fashioned”.

Some things, however, are still important and something as

unique as our own personal font is part of our character.

It has always been a source of pride to our elders as many could

not read or write but they learned how to write their signature so as not to 

have to put an X where it said to sign.

Going back to the childhood anticipation of learning script,

anything that gives a child that kind of excitement is a necessity.

I know for me, when I received that card,

I was brought back to many times before when that same

writing gave me comfort just as it did that day.

nothing that brings you that much happiness 

should ever be overlooked or discarded. 

Thanks Bestie for reminding me.

growing old... not for the light hearted.

You may have heard me say before that age has never bothered

me until my sister died last year at 82.

Today I am 59 and 4 months old.

It's not the altered face I see in the mirror, the one that I don't see in my head.

It's not the thinning hair or the love handles that surround my waist.

Although those are also not fun, I can live with it.

What bothers me most is the transition from the life you have always known

to one where you have to say goodbye to loved ones.

You see friends of your suffering with illness, death of their spouses. 

going to a funeral seems to be the way your family gathers these days.

I find myself, still content in my little Cottage loving my life

but needing my children more for appts. or things I just can't do anymore.

For me, this is the worst, being dependent on my children and daughter in laws.

I find myself, once able to conquer many things at once to 

becoming exhausted by just reading facebook and seeing what 

others are accomplishing.

Most days I just want to wake up, go straight into the studio and paint.

I write less and think more and then feel quilty for not writing because

how will my children and grandgirls know who I really am?

I walk around my Cottage with so many stories being told by the things

that surround me, and wonder what will happen to all my things

when I am gone? I know my children are not interested in the things that are

important to me, I often pray that the grandgirls grow up with the love

of owning things with stories that I have.

Chances are all my collections will be sold to others at an estate sale

as I keep drilling in their head

"Estate sale, not garage sale".

It brings me to a place where I find myself buying less

and allowing anything to be touched. 

So what if it breaks, none of it is coming with me.

Yet not all of growing older is bad.

I have a new found relationship with my children and its good

to know that I will be taken care of no matter how old I become.

My siblings and I have remembered just how important we all are to each other

and make a conscious effort to spend lots of time together.

We all realize that our time together is becoming limited.

Although its been a crazy year health wise, I still have

a desire to spend time at my table drinking coffee with friends 

and just sharing our lives.

When I finish a home portrait, I can't wait for the client to become a friend

as they come to the Cottage to pick up their piece.

I love it when a friend comes to pick up art work from me and we stand

around in the kitchen making small talk.

I am very thankful I have my clear mind, that most days I create something.

I understand that life is a cycle, that it is the next generations turn

to make a difference in this world and I find myself thinking often

" I won't be here to see the repercussions of that generations decisions"

More than ever, I want to believe that their is a God, that Heaven is real

and we all get to be there in the end with time meaning nothing.

However, I do know this, that life does go on after this,

whether it be the Heaven we dream of, a distant planet, reincarnation-

there is something after this.

If you have ever seen the miracle of life or just how fantastic the human body is,

you have to know this was not created by man alone.

Last but not least, I am so very thankful for my three grandgirls.

Even as they are getting older they still love time with Mumsie.

I can just forget the world and play and be a kid again.

To hear one say to her Daddy,

"Thank you God for giving Mumsie such a loving heart"

to hearing another tell me last night,

"I have the very best Mumsie in the World"

Well it makes this almost 60 year old heart burst with love for these children.

I know the time will come when they grow older, when I won't

be as important to them as, it to, is a part of the cycle.

I pray that the memories we make together, the Cottage will

live in their hearts and minds throughout their life.

When they are my age, and they look around them,

they can understand that this is what the Circle of life really means

and they are comforted in knowing that people have done this before them

and all will be right in the World.

Love to you all.

Oh and Happy Birthday Momma! 

Wish you were here and at the same time, I know you are!

WE can all make a difference!

 It's been a few months since I have blogged.

Had gallbladder removed and then just busy with Christmas orders.

Yet this weekend I spent it with my sister, C and

my great niece, my name sake, Lillian.

I have been trying to spend more time with my sister, Simone's

grandgirls from her youngest daughter, Minta.

If you don't think you make a difference in young people's lives, you are wrong.

Sister C and I waited outside for Minta to bring Lil to the Cottage.

As they drove up, this 13 year old, ran up to me,

got in my lap and said, "I am here!"

She explained that her friends got aggravated with her today

because every time she thought about coming here, she would 

get so excited and tell them she was going to "Mumsie's Cottage"

At the Cottage we have no TV and when kids visit, no internet, no iPads.

You would think no child under three would want to be here.... 

you would be wrong,  they love visiting.

(they can have a phone for photos and to keep in touch with parents)

As we ventured inside, she began talking of one of her friends.

"O can't wait to meet you, she is going to love you"

She went on praising being with her old Aunts helping to 

bake cookies and whatever else we had in store.

Lillian loves everything about the Cottage, 

took so many photos.

As we ended her visit the next afternoon she begged to 

come back to the Cottage with us but it was time for her to be home.

We dropped her off and got down to visit a bit with her parents

and little sister.

Her Dad, well he is a bit like me, wants to talk about the deep stuff.

C and I left there feeling so proud, so good

as he shared with us:

"Thanks for being such a great impression for my girls"

He went on to explain that for them to see me not only striving

to be the best artist I can but going out there and seizing the opportunities.

"She talks about her Aunt Lil all the time"

He just went on and on to tell us how important we are to his girls.

If you think the younger generations have nothing to learn from us,

that it's too much trouble to hang and make them feel like they are all 

your favorite, again, you would be wrong.

Reach out to those distant relatives if you can.

Send them a card in the mail, share some words of wisdom.

Not everyone will express how much it means to them,

but believe me, it makes a difference in this world of chaos.

Love to you all!

Jillian, the Great.

Last night was a Jillian Friday night

or as she calls it, " My Friday night turn"

As she gets older it becomes just a little harder to entertain her

boys and the internet seems to be her jam these days.

If there is one thing I am so fortunate for it is the rules of the Cottage.

When they come for their Friday there is no TV or iPad.

There are a few exceptions like if we watch a movie together, popcorn included

or in the early morning when I am also on my computer drinking coffee.

Because it has been firmly in place since the beginning, they rarely ask for either.

But Jilly is getting older whether we like it or not 

so it becomes a tad harder to keep her entertained.

They know, however, that on their Friday we do what they want.

When i picked her up at MawMaw and Poppy

she was dancing around saying she was so excited that it was her turn.

Of course, I think its only because she had no better offers on this night.

Jojo has been on vacation with a friend this week and because Jilly 

misses her she had tie-died her a t-shirt and wanted to do a cricut iron on for it.

I love me some Cricut so that took about....... an hour! 

"Mumsie can we go walk?" 

It was hot and almost dark but hey, she is calling the shots.

When she noticed her shadow on the brick she asked for 

a photo, here is that, another memory being made.

"Can I paint the birdhouse you bought for me?"

" I want to surprise you and you can put it out your studio window with 

your other bird and squirrel feeders"

Great idea, I thought as I was hoping to paint another wall in my bedroom.

She diligently spent two hours on this masterpiece 

and was quite pleased with it.

 

About that boyfriend stuff, each time that subject comes up Mumsie sings loudly 

to the tune of Encanto's Bruno...

"WE DON'T TALK ABOUT BOYFRIENDS, NO NO NO!"

It was getting late I was tired, she was not quite ready to go to bed.

I said that's fine but you will have to lay in my bed and read or something.

Which brings me to another tradition at the Cottage.

Each night as the grandgirls settle down to sleep,

I sing to them their prayers and a few other songs from when they were little and a back rub.

"If I fall asleep, don't wake me to sing or rub"

"Oh, forget it then, I am going to sleep"

She settles and quietly listens to all my singing, bad notes and all.

Just as she is about to fall asleep, she whispers, 

"This is my favorite part about coming sleep here"

Why don't you just melt my heart right there.

Jillian loves tradition, rarely wants anything to change when she comes here.

I often threaten to sell the triple bunk beds as they never sleep in them.

While we played she again asked me not to get rid of them.

"Mumsie, I will be so sad, it's all about the memories"

Well that will keep the bunks here for a tad longer.

..... and then there is this....

Each morning begins with a rock in my recliner.

This girl will not let me slide on any traditions.

As I rock her this morning I am reminded of something i often 

say in my heart as I rock, something perhaps that DR. Suess would say:

"...AND I WILL ROCK YOU HERE OR THERE,

 I WILL ROCK YOU ANYWHERE

I WILL ROCK WHEN YOU COME THROUGH MY DOOR,

I WILL ROCK EVEN WHEN YOUR FEET TOUCH THE FLOOR"

Happy Saturday, you all!

If you can't be with the ones you love, love the ones your with.