One thing about my "brain on steroids" time again, is that I am a terrible insomniac. As my husband observed earlier, my brain is running a million times faster than my body. As much as my body is desperate for much-needed sleep, sometimes my thoughts will not quiet down. So rather than lie in bed, awake, with that pit in my stomach and ache in my heart, I thought I would go out for a morning blog! (If I weren't so doggone tired, I'd be eager for a morning jog, too, since it's also "body on steroids" time!)
Yesterday was day two of radiation treatment. I always like the kind, comforting, and positive atmosphere at the cancer center. The people who work there are wonderful. It helps me feel positive and constructive as I sink into this routine every weekday.
The music wafting in the treatment room yesterday featured Lionel Ritchie. In addition to picturing my little angels helping me, I found myself remembering many happy times that were associated with the songs I heard. My high school and college years. Hanging out with friends. Dating my husband. I kept waiting for the song, "Hello," because that was OUR song, but they didn't get to that one before I was finished. But it was nice to be transported back to those memories, because: 1) I'm glad to know that I still have memories, and 2) it's one more reminder that I have had a great life. No matter what this process leads to, I have a life I can be grateful for. Of course, that's why I want more of it! But it was comforting to reflect on happy times.
I guess I was having a Dickens of a moment, because the "ghost of good times past" went away, and the "ghost of Jacob future" arrived. It was the most amazing image in my mind's eye. As the radiation dose is delivered, there is a sensation of flashing light and little "poofing" sounds, kind of like a camera taking lots of pictures (pictures that will make your head feel sunburned, but that's something to deal with later). And so suddenly in my mind's eye they were cameras going off. The subject of the photographers was a very handsome young man in a tuxedo on his wedding day. He was standing with his bride, but the bride's image was too obscure for me to study. However, I had a clear view of the young man as he stood there with the most handsome, confident, joyful smile on his face. The radiant countenance of a good, honorable, happy young man. This man was my Jacob. My beloved son, who is not yet five years old. My main reason for wanting a miracle. It was amazing how my mind was able to construct a "future Jacob" image that was so recognizable. And it was the most beautiful image I have ever seen in my head.
I decided that his little sister, Emma, should also be in the picture, so I started trying to paint her in there, maybe as a bridesmaid or something. She would probably be as tall as he is. (Her birthfather is seven feet tall, so we expect big things from her!) I wished I saw myself in there, next to my husband, as parents of the groom, but obviously the whole wedding party was not shown.
So I wondered, would this be something I would witness in person, or from heaven? I hope in person. I wondered if this would be something where people would comment, "Oh, look at that handsome Jacob! Remember, he was that sweet little boy who lost his mommy. But now look how well he is doing!" I hope that instead, it would be a moment of celebrating the miracle that we are praying and pleading for, if I can live to guide him to that moment.
Finally, I realized that if this image were at all foretelling, it was good news. It would either be something I will witness firsthand, or it is a comforting assurance that regardless of what happens to me, my Jacob will be okay. That beautiful, confident smile on his face is what I want most.