The God Jar

Tonight is my first night in Indiana with my aunts, and we just finished visiting and getting ready for Aunt Becky's surgery tomorrow morning. She loved her bear and her new PJs, both of which she decided she's taking to the hospital with her tomorrow. Dinner was an event filled with her favorite Ohio treats: Pizza Oven pizza, Golden Crisp potato chips, and finished with Heggy's chocolates. They have all gone their separate ways, preparing for our early start tomorrow morning. I, as usual, cannot sleep. Neither can Aunt Becky. She is in the family room, laying on the couch and watching TV.

If you do not know me or my family very well, we typically handle these types of situations with humor, which more often than not, is usually pretty inappropriate. Tonight, boob jokes were flying. As part of our dessert, Aunt Becky's friends from work made her a boob cake, literally. A huge cake shaped like two big boobs, anatomically correct except they were hot pink. At one point, Aunt Becky handed her son Sammie something, and he accidentally brushed against her chest. He laughed and apologized for "accidentally grabbing her boob" to which she replied, "Well, that was your last chance!" and cracked up, laughing hysterically at herself. This was basically how the evening continued. Tons of eating and laughing and boob jokes.

We are headed to the hospital very early tomorrow even though her surgery does not start until about eleven. She only has to stay in the hospital overnight (only one night after a double mastectomy and reconstruction!!!), and then she will be home with us again on Tuesday afternoon. I am not sure how long we are staying, but it sounds to me like we will be here until the end of the week.

Tonight, we had our very own private "sister" moment in the guest bedroom when we gave Aunt Becky all of her presents. Of course, we gave her her PJ's, but we also gave her the bear, which was very special. She loved it, and surprisingly, she didn't cry when she opened it. Inside the gift with the bear was a small clay jar stopped with a cork. It had a pink ribbon on it and it said "God Jar." It was my Aunt Polly's. So, she got her guardian angel and a little faith tonight. She seems a little anxious, of course, but she is in very good spirits and ready to "get it over with."

I have thought about my mom a lot today, especially during our five-hour drive on the way here. There was a lot of time to be quiet and think, and I looked out the window at all of the farm land and trees and sunshine and thought about being in the car with my mom on so many similar trips before this. I thought about how different things were and how happy we were together before she was sick. Being here without her makes me very sad. This whole situation makes me very sad, really. How quickly our lives can change.

Interestingly enough, my family has been tested for the BRAC analysis, the test they do to determine your genetic risk for breast and ovarian cancer. My Aunt Polly, and now my Aunt Becky, have both tested negative. I am very curious to know that if it has been determined that we do not have any type of revealing, pre-disposed gene in our family, how have so many of us had breast cancer? My grandma, one of her sisters, my Aunt Polly, mom, and now Aunt Becky. It makes no sense, and all I can come up with is that we have some seriously bad karma in our family being paid forward. Maybe someone a long time ago was a slave owner or a Nazi? If it is not genetic, why else would so many of them be diagnosed with such a deadly, harmful disease? Maybe someone from our family was a member of the mob or the other shooter on the grassy knoll? I do not know. I will never know. I will never understand. Ever. But, it is our reality. And not even really mine, I am more just a spectator watching it happen to everyone else and I am not able to do anything but stand here, completely overwhelmed and useless. It is very hard to feel like you can do nothing to help. What I wouldn't give to be able to change the situation.

I am not an overly religious person, and I often keep my beliefs and feelings and faith to myself. Oftentimes, I feel people have extremely strong feelings about these types of things and do not, sadly, know the difference between simply talking about their ideas and preaching. Or forcing opinions down others' throats. Or being judgmental. Or hurtful. So, I usually keep my opinions to myself for those very reasons. I do not know what a God Jar is for. I do not know if it works. It was Aunt Polly's, and she is not here anymore. Mom never had a God Jar and she is not here anymore either. I am not sure if it really represents something or if you are supposed to fill it with something, like maybe a penny for every prayer. Even though we were giving it to Aunt Becky, it helped kindle a small reminder in me, one that has been lacking for quite some time now. Keep your faith. It may be private. It may be small. It may be lost. But no matter what, try to find it. And use it. And maintain it. I do not have a God Jar, but I think, no matter how small and silly it may be, it can remind us that we must have a storage of faith on hand, just in case, for situations like these.

Not everything ends the way we want it to. Tomorrow marks the five month mark after my mom's death. But not everything has to end that way.