Oh, What a Wonderful Gift

by Donna Poole

The little girl had a perfectly heart shaped face, long, dark brown braids, and almost black eyes. She watched, brown eyes dancing with excitement, as I opened my Christmas gift from her, one she’d saved pennies, nickels, and dimes to buy me. I was a year older, and she knew I wanted gold colored doll-sized silverware.

There it was in my hands, the silverware I’d longed for but never really expected to have. I looked at her happy smile, and then I did something so unbelievably cruel tears still sting my eyes when I remember. We’d been fighting, some little girl sister argument over something now long forgotten.

“I don’t want this stupid stuff,” I said to Mary. “You keep it.”

She didn’t say a word, but her face. Oh, that sweet face. Her lips trembled. Tears spilled out of those dark eyes and ran down her cheeks. I did love the gift. I was sorry for the words the minute I said them. It was a lesson it would take me a lifetime to learn; there is no taking back cruel words once said.

Mom grabbed the gift from my hands and gave it to Mary. “Donna, you will never touch these as long as you live. Do you hear me? Never.”

And I never did.

Many years later I finally apologized, and Mary forgave me, but the memory lingers of a wonderful gift rejected and the sweet giver deeply hurt. 

***

I’m getting familiar with my pattern now. I get chemotherapy and a trial drug on Tuesday. By Thursday my five “sick as a dog” days begin.

Someone first wrote the phrase “sick as a dog” in 1705, so it has been around for awhile now! Back then dogs were often stray creatures, usually sick, and left to die unaided in the streets. People didn’t value their lives the way we do now.

I feel for those dogs, lying sick in the streets during my sick as a dog days, Thursday through Monday. I’m too sick to appreciate the beautiful gift of life; I just survive. By late Monday afternoon I start to rejoin the land of the living just in time to drag myself to the hospital for Tuesday’s injection of the trial drug. But! That Tuesday I get just the trial drug and any thing else I need depending on blood counts, NO chemotherapy. On the way home God wipes a film from my eyes and once again I see.

Remember being a kid, swinging high, lying back in the swing. and looking at life from upside down? Breathtaking, wasn’t it? It’s like that when I once again see.

I reach for John’s hand, and he smiles at me. I love how boyish his smile still is, and the way he jokes about driving Miss Donna and never complains about the many hours he spends in the car. I think about how lovely my care team is, doctors, nurses, the lady who schedules everything, and the phlebotomists, especially the one who finds me every week, no matter where I am, and gives me a Bible verse to help me through the day. I picture home and know it will be spotless when I get there, because our daughter, Kimmee, not only cooks gourmet meals, but she also cleans, gardens, and does a hundred other things.

We pull out of the parking lot and ease our way into traffic, and I grin at how young the pedestrian traffic is, students and hospital employees, riding bikes, walking fast, jogging, and running, ponytails swinging side to side. Live kids, live! The world needs your youth, your energy, your enthusiasm.

When we get out of the city, I catch my breath at the beauty of nature’s bounty. It has rained, and June is green with hope. So many different shades of green combine to make one glorious watercolor wash. Flowers brighten the landscape. I’m a tree hugger from way back. If I only had the energy, I’d ask John to stop the car so I could get out and throw my arms around the rough bark of one and thank God for its Creator.

I’ll feel better for a few days now until its time for chemo again Tuesday.

Last Sunday I curled up in bed barely alert, only awake enough to know I was sicker than a dog. This Sunday Kimmee will take me to parking lot church. I might even put my hand over my heart and try to sing if I don’t run out of breath. I know I’ll cry; I seldom make it through a parking lot church service without grateful tears. And Kimmee won’t laugh or roll her eyes. She’ll just hug me or touch my arm and ask if I’m okay.

Later that day we’ll finally celebrate Easter with our kids and grandkids. We’ll watch the grandkids hunt for eggs in the grass at our son and daughter in law’s house and give them their Easter baskets. We’ll take off our masks long enough to eat together. Our son or daughter-in-law will probably build a fire, and we’ll sit around it and laugh and talk and love every minute together until the last ember.

Can we ever cherish the gift of life too much? If we take it for granted, if we let our trials rub off the shine until only the gray remains, are we throwing the gift back at its Creator? “I don’t want this stupid stuff. You keep it.”

In our dog days we may be incapable of loving life; everyone has those survival mode days. But when we can, let’s hug the people we love and the trees too; let’s laugh and sing and put our hands over our hearts and cry. Because life is good. Oh, what a wonderful gift!