Lynette Fons arrived yesterday afternoon from Houston, Texas. I saw her this morning, knocking on my door as I made my way down the hall, pushing my I.V. pole. Even from afar and the backside, I knew it was her. Sisters are like that.
She had a bag of goodies for me. A blouse from my mother (my best clothes are hand-me-downs from mom), picture of dad in his Navy whites, picture of mom and dad getting married, a picture of Lyn (my request), and a card strewn with flowers. The card seemed to be saying to me that I will be alright living with my immune suppressed system for a year during which time I can not pull a weed, plant a tulip, nor touch the earth. The card seemed to have enough bright flowers to hold me. The message she wrote on the back of the card seemed powerful enough to overcome any hurdle.
Before she left for blood draws and clinic appointment, I invited her to a craft hour on the floor. A cart was full of glitter and every paper color and paint, exotic paper and glues imaginable. Art therapists gave us card board shapes and asked us to be creative. After one week of killing my immune system, it felt great to invited to create. Choosing colors, tearing paper, pasting with brush, Lyn and I made covered boxes, one for each other to commemorate the gift of life she is giving with the donation of her bone marrow.