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"I got to thinking one day about all those women on the Titanic who passed up dessert at dinner that fateful night in an effort to 'cut back.' From then on, I've tried to be a little more flexible."
(Erma Bombeck)

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Saturday
Mar122011

Now where did I put my scepter?

 (Photo: December 2008 - Leaving Swedish Medical Center after my final chemo treatment)

Recently, I asked my husband if he would be interested in being a guest writer for my blog. He said he'd think about it. He's really an excellent writer and a voracious reader--he could write about any number of topics. He's also a very busy guy, so it may be awhile before his writing makes an appearance here, unfortunately.

In the meantime, I thought I'd share a poem my daughter wrote recently for one of her college classes. She didn't tell me what the poem was about--she simply handed it to me to read.

While reading her poem, I smiled. As I continued reading, the tears started to come.

My daughter continues to amaze and bless me.

 

Her Crown

Her smooth, blonde wig rests motionless upon the counter.
It awaits her crown,
as if awaiting a coronation.

She appears in the kitchen,
not worn and pale
as some cancer victims might be,
but determined, resilient
as a knight on a quest.
But for her fuzzy, bald head
would she be
a Sir Gawain incarnate.

She picks up the wig
and fits it on the pate that was once full of life.
She is a Queen,
her synthetic hair proclaiming royalty
known only to those who fight the insidious beast
that wages war within their own bodies.

The wig is a wreath of victory and a defeat at once.
Victory for the defeat that is kept at bay,
Defeat for the reason she wears the crown.
She smiles beneath this flaxen reminder as she departs the room,
ready for another day of Battle.
She will conquer.
Then she will lay aside
her symbol of Triumph and Loss
and continue her role as
Mother.

 

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