Friday, September 30, 2011

The Daily Blog I Never Wanted to Continue....

Not because its Breast Cancer Awareness Month but because Breast Cancer awareness is everyday. Especially when you think those close to you have won the war and the attacker's retreat only to come back stronger.


Dear God, what am I feeling: Zondra's story.

We laugh, we cry and playfully bend stories to better suit the shoes we fill. We walk, we run, chase, dodge and when we least expect it the feet that have carried us into the unwritten chapters kept trip, stumble then fall. Quickly reaching to grab hold of any object to pull, lift or shove aside the body begins to speak, “Not today. Please not today.”



A bathroom mirror is trained to lie. It’s almost too easy to convince a reflection that it is what it isn’t. Slowly each eye scans the surface of your skin wondering while fearing the depths of what’s happening. The assumed trembles in the tips of your fingers so often ignored, the unexplained tiredness the same, bedtime at 8:40 the norm; an agreement with the system of self asking for nothing more than the opportunity to rest.



The journey becomes a challenge in places high school never taught.



Shared are the commands to pick your self up and dust off the butt of a one time slick pair of now faded and weathered jeans.



The voices in your heart have now taken over, “Get up! Get back in the game! Play like you mean it! Give it everything you’ve got!”



Held in the corners of the smiles that paste positive reactions together outside the shell carried are the softly spoken whispers, “Not today. Please not today. Dear God, tell me what I’m feeling.”



Life plays mystery like a master. Each time you’re forced to guess gives life new reasons to change.



Bank accounts can be low, favorite football teams can have losing seasons; grocery prices can reach new car levels but nothing compares to the value of air when it escapes your body the moment the doctor says, “You have breast cancer.”



As a writer I’m not being truthful to you if I continue to ignore the stories, the empowerment of personal survival that’s met the face of the beast and continues to find purpose in battles that nearly steal your name. Through encouragement and trust the creative side of this daily dedication of pouring ink on the continuation of a living tree I’ve tried to convince so many to place their journey into journals to help teach.



Then God whispered to me, “I asked you to do it not them…”



And so I heard the word…



I introduce to you Zondra; one of the most optimistic, highly spirited, deeply devoted to her school and community human creations I’ve met in thirty two years of radio broadcast. A champion, a physically visible master of sharing, caring and selfless leader; the missing lyric to everybody’s favorite song becomes whole the moment she walks through the door.



Before a writer sets out to words in motion we’re taught to build a beginning, middle and end. Know the path before emotion sets in. Become the character hidden within the parenthesis. Feel not what your reader cannot therefore you must speak in a language taken directly from the street.



I do not know the outcome of Zondra’s story. It makes me extremely angry to think the artist I am with giant canvas’s on walls of so many could deliver a portrait of incredible peace, one that she hasn’t begged for but holds on the other side of the fence keeping her from touching a horizon we’re all destined to chase.



In the days, weeks, months and I pray years from this page forward it’s within the purposes I keep to share with you the willingness of her gentle, “Yes…” A single word shared when asked, “In the name of saving lives can I please share your journey?”

“Yes…”

Tuesday January 25, 2011

We've read the same story's and have been taught about the affects of breast cancer. I must be a cat with nine lives because eight of my closest friends have been diagnosed. October is always set aside as breast cancer awareness month. It's my dedication and loyalty to those I've lost to make it every day.

This story is real. No blinders, no marketing managers reaching for politically correct presentations. This is the life of a teacher that students look up to everyday and through every storm she hasn't let anything stand in the way of teaching.

Forty eight hours from surgery; a prayer service titled Healing and Wholeness is planned for tomorrow evening. If your body has the ability to create thunder I feel the vibrations everywhere including my fingers.



If Zondra is nervous or scared she doesn’t show it. A couple of times a day she has alone time to lie down and rest under a warm blanket. I often wonder what she thinks, allows her imagination to design, plans out or releases into the universe for a passerby to pick up and help her carry.



Fellow teachers continue to share what little money they make to help Zondra with the high price of medication. Ask any of them why…a union of faith and support takes the shape of light stealing from the cold a shadows curse.



I will be at the prayer vigil listening to the heart felt compassion from a community of leaders and supporters. Two questions play over and over in my mind: what sort of peace does she find while covered under the warmth of the blanket hidden away from a world of constant change? What does she feel knowing in two days hope can become her new place of happiness?



I wait for her reply…



While under my blanket I sometimes think about what I should be or wish I was doing. I am a person who is always on the go but since chemo I am not able to move and go about as I would like for example this year is the first time since my daughter was in preschool that I have missed open house and she is now in 11th grade. I was really upset. I thought the world would end; my daughter assured me it wouldn’t. I also thought my church was going to fall down because I was not there for a WHOLE week LOL (I am usually there multiple times a week). Other times I welcome the peace and quiet, because people actually let me sleep and get the rest I need. They are not calling, texting, and saying ma, auntie, Zondra can you please………….

That didn’t happen until now.

In two days I will be going into surgery and leaving this old place of breast cancer behind and starting a new chapter of healing. It’s exciting and scary at the same time part of me will be gone and the healing process long, but I will have a bright new beginning. I am overjoyed by the fact that my surgery will help others because I am participating in research that will try to understand breast cancer more. I look forward to seeing what the future holds.



January 26, 2011: The interview on the night before surgery



The night before breast cancer surgery plays games with assumption when you’ve never been part of a circle of love.



Zondra’s mother races around the church to make sure there’s enough chairs available for guests offering their warmth and compassion. She speaks in quick overtones about how she wishes her daughter of 31 would talk more about resting rather than running back to work or getting back involved with the church, “She needs to understand the doctor wants six weeks of rest. I don’t understand how we’re going to get her to slow down.”



School teachers begin to arrive one by one followed by principals and other community involved leaders; there are hugs, questions filled with fear and yet no one has let go of hope and faith.



Maybe because we know Zondra wouldn’t want it that way. An extremely positive outlook not only on the present but how such a stumble through life can be turned into a tool to help educate people she’ll never meet.



One such person, the friend of a friend who through chance or fate crossed paths with Zondra; she’s a breast cancer survivor. She talks of the surgery openly, no fear, no embarrassment, a constant, “Praise God and thank you God,” comes from nearly every paragraph. She begins to laugh when she speaks of the medicines that have helped her calling shopping in thrift stores the greatest pill there is.



The closer we move toward 7:30 the room becomes flooded with guests not expected; Zondra’s eyes become wide as love slips into the corners of a soul that has only questioned during times when chemo nearly had her too weak to lift that unforgettable smile.



Her minister speaks out, “You can’t stop Zondra! Sickness couldn’t keep her away. She would lie down on the sofa outside this room and ask me to keep the door open so the message could find her heart.”

Her mother locates the courage to stand before the collection of open palms and hearts, "I found out about Zondra's cancer through a note she left on the back of a Walmart reciept." Which made each of us wonder about our own stories and what if's? Where would the strength come from to be able to inform those I love if changes came with a face called there's a chance?



Back at work, a charter school set in the center of downtown fellow teachers have lined up at the board on the wall selecting times available to pick up Zondra’s children, to make sure dinner has been prepared and to do whatever else is required to make sure her life carries with it no worries and in Zondra’s case no reason to break the doctors six week resting rule.



I’ll never forget watching Zondra’s mother during a time of open prayer; she shook uncontrollably, fists clinched, face buried in the shoulder of the one God chose to lead the ministry. Whispering words I’ll never know, she found peace allowing the birth of new beginnings to blossom rather than giving permission to anger to paint pictures in places they weren't welcome.



I didn’t sleep last night knowing Zondra didn’t either. Six in the morning would arrive too quickly and the world of medicine was prepared to help lift the shadow off Zondra’s cloudy day.



10:52 am is where I stand at the present moment and no word has arrived. Life isn’t a DSL connection to the internet nor can the art of healing be sent through a UPS overnight package.



Hope and faith…


4:37 pm: Word from those closest, "They got it."

January 29, 2011

Texting is a beautiful tool; got word late last night that Zondra is home. The one place her mother and friends feared most. Why? Zondra has more energy than me. Her personal embodiment of positve energy requires places to be displayed and if not given life, movement is given permission to unwrap.

I still laugh at the way I reacted to my heart attack; heart surgery on Tuesday back to work Monday. If people are shaped by the same molds, my fear for Zondra is her inability to let go.

A Native American Medicine Man taught me, "Western Medicine Doctors practice medicine. They can't cure you nor can I...what we offer are substances that bring peace to the body so it can heal."

This story is far from over...not until someone tells the poet in my fingertips that all has been cleared and Zondra's breast cancer is truly over. I'd be lieing if I didn't admit to holding onto fear; they said my very good friend Theresa was in full recovery; we celebrated with dance; honored with family love and togetherness then without warning the phone rang when none of us were expecting a good day to suddenly twist.

I'm thinking, praying and helping to deliver positive vibrations from the universe but the most haunting part of the breast cancer journey are the invisible portraits of everything's going to be peachy keen and then... Its the part of life I've constantly questioned leading me deeper into spiritual studies. It's the part of breast cancer you don't read about during the 31 days of October. This is why I'm dedicated to sharing the true face of this horrid disease. I pray every second that Zondra is perfect. Her positive view make it so much easier for her family and friends to find peace.

Right now...my goal is to guarantee that she find it too. She needs to rest for the six weeks the doctor requires so the true healing can silence every fear I hold as a friend. Getting mad isn't the answer. Understanding the several levels exposed is the quest then sharing each dip, trip and unfocused reminder with anyone willing to listen to the truths that surround the silence so many women are feeling.

Wednesday February 2, 2011

The measurement of time is constantly changing; for some it might be a song, three city blocks, a Wednesday night in front of American Idol or the heart beats connected to the passing minutes where the pain isn’t as bad as it was yesterday.



A week after breast cancer surgery I was invited to Zondra’s house not knowing what to expect; I didn’t know what “time” might have done to her.


Wednesday February 9, 2011

A medically trained professional sternly told me on Christmas Eve 2010 that the body has a way of letting you know when it’s had enough and ultimately there’s nothing I can do to fight it because in the end it will always win. Staring into the doctors eyes I accepted his challenge by sending a valuable message to the body that’s carried my dreams for forty eight years, “You should’ve picked someone else to be your mind and soul because I’m not quitting.”



I continue to see that same vibration of embodiment in the spirit of Zondra two weeks after the world of medicine reached onto her path and took from her part of the luggage.



I’ve met the root of her endless attraction to developing a positive outlook; Zondra’s mother is like shaking hands with God. A gift of trust, faith, healing and leadership has placed her feet on the backstreets of this nation that only get talked about on late night newscasts and yet she hasn’t stopped touching those areas of silence that need love most.



Her outlook, vision and decision to remain attracted to the higher creations doesn’t go anywhere near anger, disgust or failure, “I was put here for a reason and I will do what I am told until I’m no longer needed and I am far from that.”



Zondra watches the two of us talk about spiritual leaders as if they’re our neighbor, Joel Olsteen being the one who shines brightest in her smile, “I heard you speak the other day at Zondra’s prayer meeting; I thought Joel was standing in the same room.”



“Oh yeah? You should see me at a wedding ceremony,” I laughed back…



Zondra opened the door for me to document the real face of breast cancer and through it someone higher has added a teacher to my family. I love listening to people talk. Inside these chapters, roads where dreams can be connected to drug abuse, gang violence, hatred and fear; Zondra and her family continue to symbolize what Buddhist Monk Thick Nhat Hahn teaches, “Love is why we were born…”



Two weeks since the surgery and tonight is the first time I felt something different…the microphone unknowingly turning off during a deep question might be a higher decision maker’s way of saying, “Not now…”



Zondra and I spoke softly about how she keeps from being bored and what its like to be trapped in a home while her imagination is placed in a world of escape in distant places only she can see. Tonight I felt a tear crack her voice; the laugh she’s known for faded as she explained the difficulties of having the energy to reach beyond expectation but the body refuses to abide by the rules of listening to what its been commanded to perform.



Her story about the first round of stitches coming out and how horribly bad it hurt gripped my heart; her nervous laugh no medicine for the fear I now felt. She got a picture of everything…there was silence…for her imagination train had pulled into a station of disbelief for the body that carried her for thirty one years no longer looked or felt the same.

Monday February 21, 2011

The minds eye is too quick to forget. When things become out of sight human connection begins its journey toward becoming unimportant. This is why I’ve dedicated my life to the art of attracting then re-attracting.



Four weeks after Zondra’s surgery her positive presence is still missing from the school where she teaches. I had hoped heavily on her making an appearance at Friday nights Valentine’s Dance. The students would have flipped with excitement which might serve as the reason why the distance continues. The doctor said six weeks.



Today I reached out wanting to record another interview. No answer. I refuse to rest while believing she’s resting.



Her silence has forced me to dig deeper into the chapters already written by actresses who’ve battled this disease; Jaclyn Smith of Charlie’s Angels fame one the most haunting, “It’s the news nobody wants to hear. I remember going home and telling my husband to get it off me! Just get it off!”



Although Zondra granted me permission to step into the private levels of struggles she would face, it’s this silence I want to write about most. She isn’t the first but through her disconnections we can all learn how to walk stronger.



I miss hearing the laugh; a burst of energy that shoots from the corners of an imagination locked on always being first in line for something great to say. I know of the doctor’s visit last week but know nothing of what was spoken behind the doors closed to cut off the world still moving forward.



My wife and granddaughter Mia were with Zondra; it’s so important that the seven year old is able to see the unexpected changes delivered at times when having fun should’ve been taking place but a different ending was designed. Mia was with me at the heart specialist carefully staring at the nurses and doctor studying every page of the reports my ticker was sending. These are the lessons untaught in school and kept far away from the canals that feed the journey soon to be called reality.



I’m told Zondra’s eyes lit up when she saw Mia. Hidden behind a mask, smiles were shared but not germs. The student and the teacher meeting in ways that poets can’t write about because there aren’t enough descriptive words created that best paint the portrait of compassion led by affectively being involved.



Come on phone ring! I want to hear your voice! Biting the edges of these writing fingers…it’s difficult to keep assumption from falling onto a page not already written on.



Tuesday February 22, 2011

A reconnection is made...the interview



Wedesday March 2, 2011

Week number five…to the average person time moves too quickly. Months feel like seconds, years can be lived out inside an hour. For someone with breast cancer the view of the world is flipped; time isn’t something you’ve lost but rather you can’t get enough of.



I caught up with Zondra in her car. She’s been given permission to step back into a more normal life and style only to realize it’s still not enough compared to the freedoms she once had. She laughs about driving being more of a gift rather than something we do automatically. So is the way her body moves as its being taught how to relocate motion in an area once taken for granted.



Her voice remains chipper but being in tune with vocals and how we use them to push our way through conversations I can hear restlessness. She wants to get back to living. She’s ready to take the reins of the shell called Zondra and guide it back onto the path of everyday occurrences and begin the journey of making new memories to stuff inside invisible pages of later chapters and horizons.



Her efforts remind me deeply of the poetry that fell from my fingertips during my most recent challenges:



All the darkness I assumed would be

Has painted pictures I can’t see

I always wanted to know what it would be like

Only to learn its me against me



Im not chasing rainbows

Im not walking in circles

I wanna get back…to living



I wanna get back…oh so back…to living…



I’ve walked 10,000 chapters in self created books

Beat the odds by breaking the rules

I’ve worked a lot of games to make love with the wind

Only to learn Im not my best friend



Im not chasing rainbows

Im not walking in circles

I wanna get back…to living



I wanna get back…oh so back…to living…



A thousand hearts to hold

A million smiles to feed

You came along for the ride



I’m not chasing rainbows

Not walking in circles…

I’m here because I’m alive…



Written by Arroe Collins

October 2009



More to come...

And that's how the story ended...doctors were excited about helping Zondra find a place in her life no longer threatened.

Today September 30, 2011 I've learned the cancer is back much stronger than its last visit. As a loving friend you want to scream at the passing clouds. As a writer you never walk into a paragraph knowing a new chapter silently waits in places you least expect and because I refuse to allow readers to be blind sided by an act we can't control...the origin of why she wants to share the story must continue to rise above the flooded valleys.

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