It's a small world after all!

I am choosing silence right now.
For me, that's like visiting a foreign country without a passport.
My voice has been my career. As a TV reporter, I fashioned words into sentences, paragraphs, stories, distilling facts into the news/soup that viewers could swallow.
On the radio, my beat became my take on the world. At first, I feared talking honestly about my own feelings and opinions. I was lost without a prepared script to read from. Gradually I found my way and my voice and filled hours with my pointless meandering with listeners and on air guests. Still talking it up, conversatin' with you and with myself.
On the air, my voice carried me and cared for me.
Off the air, my voice connected me to friends, family. The only time I'm quiet is when I'm sleeping; otherwise, I want to/need to verbally dissect everything I encounter. On a walk, over a meal, over the phone--I'm one chatty chick.
But since I came home from the hospital, I have shut off the volume.
Usually, I listen to the radio when I'm just hanging out at home, loading the dishwasher or chopping onions or paying bills. Tuning in to the chatter. Interested in other people's words.
It's all been turned off. I crave silence; I need to spend days quietly now. I read the paper in the morning, then shut out the chat, the current events, the endless broadcast updates.
I don't really know what's going on in the world right now.
My inner self is trying to tell me something new and I won't be able to hear it unless I keep silent and keep silence around me. My world is shifting in subtle ways. I am convinced I can find new wisdom if I am quiet enough to hear it. I am certain that when it comes, it will be in a whisper.
My house, my room, my bed. (For you visual thinkers, here's the sequence: Wide shot, medium shot, tight shot.) That's my world right now.
I'm here. Listening. Waiting. Preparing.


* * * * *

This past month has schooled me in gratitude.
I have always been somewhat carelessly grateful. But, to be honest, I've been like a rich kid who doesn't quite understand that not everyone is a trust funder. My blessings have not necessarily been material in nature--although I have never known real want. I was blessed from my first breath by being born into a family of people who truly and unselfishly loved and nourished me. I grew up with encouragement, kindness, faith.
And always good health. I saw vitality as my birthright. Blessed with a body that required zero maintainence, I have always had the strength and stamina to work hard and play hard. No medications, allergies, disorders. I didn't get colds or flu. I didn't just see myself as invincible--I WAS invincible.
Well, ha ha on me. The bigger they come the harder they fall.
Today I am newly grateful for the health I've enjoyed--and I ask myself if I enjoyed it enough.
As I thoughtfully review the parts of my life that I took for granted, everything seems fresh and fragile. The word HEAL is the first part of the word HEALTH. The first word fits itself neatly into the second.
I am mostly at home, but I leave the house briefly at least once every day--a walk or accompanying someone on an errand. Colors seem more intense; noise is more raucous. I watch the faces of strangers and often notice people who look distracted or as if they might be in a bad mood. I want to stop them and remind them to notice how lush the trees are right now, casting patterns of shade on the green midsummer lawns. I want to warn them--what if you get a cancer diagnosis tomorrow? What if today is your last day of unambiguous health? Have you appreciated this day or have you squandered it?

* * * * *

Princess Alexis and BossLady came to visit, bringing papers for me to sign, updates from the workplace and a box full of my mail.
After they left, I took the mail to my boudoir and flopped into bed with it. My paycheck stub, press releases, invitations to attend and opening of a new restaurant and a new play.
And then, the cards.
My letter carrier is probably annoyed with me. Every day, he deposits a hernia-inducing load of envelopes in my home mailbox. I have gotten dozens and scores of cards and letters from my friends and acquaintances. Everyone who has ever had me on their Christmas card list has fired off a get well wish. Invest in Hallmark, people--I should be getting dividend checks from them!
I have gotten an incredible assortment of cards--funny, serious, inspirational. Some from old friends, some from people whose path I hardly recall passing. It has been an amazing paper shower. I rub my finger over each signature, touched that the sender has followed that impulse to find words to wish me health and healing. Quiet souls write me long letters while some garrulous friends simply sign their name and let the verse on the card speak for them. Confronting illness makes some people wordy while others are rendered inarticulate. I know each envelope was sealed with fear, sadness, hope, love...with me in mind.
The cards that Alexis and BossLady brought were different.
They all came from my friends who know me exclusively from the radio. From fm107.1 listeners.
You don't know my home address, so you sent your cards to the station. Some of you I have met in the flesh--at the Fair, or while I was on remote, or perhaps our paths crossed coincidentally at some point.
But most of you know me because we regularly spend time together when I am in a room speaking into a microphone. I'm with you when you're in your car or cubicle or kitchen. We do what friends do--get together, talk it over, laugh it off, make each other think.
It's an odd friendship because it's so one-way.
But active conversation is two-way communication--the talker and the listener.
And how gratifying it has been for the talker to listen to you.
Cards and notes, gifts, music, advice--it spilled out of your envelopes. Some of you wrote to me in the middle of the night, when you couldn't sleep because of your fears for me. Some of you have lived with breast cancer and you write to give me your own surivial tips to help me in this battle. You sent me your favorite Bible verses, quotes and poems--words that have comforted and served you well in your own trials. You offered to cook and clean for me. You sent me your home phone number. You promised to pray for me when I would be too tired or confused to pray for myself.
I read of your true and deep affection for me.
I have tried hard to do a show that reflects who I am. I have worked hard so that you would want to give me some of your time every day--so that I would earn your friendship. I have tried to put together a program that is fun, breezy, upbeat, fodder for thought. I have revealed more of myself than I would have thought I could.
And I see that I have been a thread that you have woven into the fabric of your life. I am not an anonymous voice to you==I'm a person. You know me. You care about me. You know I'm in trouble You are worried about me.
It is enormously gratifying to know that we have made that connection.
I covered my bed in your cards and wept a bit, feeling so fortunate to be lifted up by such fond tenderness.
And then, amid the envelopes and cards and stationary, I fell asleep, slumbering sweetly on the magic carpet of well wishes that came from you, my friends. Thank you.
Thank you. Thank you.