The Walk

DogWalkingSlightly gloomy morning. Eyes open automatically. Bella’s licks me upon seeing me. Time for her walk. For her, our morning routine is paramount. The WALK.  Nothing else matters to her at the moment. I envy that dedication. She won’t leave me alone until finally I grab the leash. Her palatable excitement at seeing me grab that thing always makes me smile. Most days, she will bite at the lease, as if to say “come on, come on.”  This walk is our time. The route is usually the same. I see the same houses, she pauses at the same grass to sniff, then hover over the grass and squeeze a few drops of pee.  A daily routine that would be boring to others, but for me, that time is MY time with Bella. The rest of the time she is my wifes.

I dont know when I decided to start walking Bella. It kinda grew out of concern that she wasn’t getting much exercise. I never realized how much would I enjoy this morning time. It became the time I got to watch her revel in what the day offered. As I prayed, I also found a sense that this just felt right. It fit. Are there days that I think I probably look ridiculous walking a white maltipoo in sweat pants and earphones on? Yes. Do I care? No. It’s become a time for me reflect about the prior day, relive conversations or think about my writing all the while taking in Bella’s utter happiness of being outside. We both do our own thing, but somehow it’s a shared experience. We both get something out of it, a pleasant surprise. One of the new times, I am not trying to achieve something, just being.

The best part is always at the end when I let her off the leash. She runs around in circles on our lawn, running so fast that it looks like hopping. She truly reminds me of rabbit at that moment. She runs a few times, looks at, dares me to chase her and when I do, she rushes back home, each step a bounce. Hers or mine? I don’t know, but it doesn’t matter, the walk worked for both of us.

Cancer, Family, Myself, Preeti

Prayers, Friends and Family

Goodenough, PhD
Image via Wikipedia


by Jemal Yarbrough


In the fading light of the day, I say a small prayer for my friend’s father who passed away 2 nights ago.  The house is quiet as usual, and she rests uneasily but expectantly for the nausea to follow.  A friend had just visited, the  worry lines creased deep into her forehead due to the recent seizure experienced by her little brother. 2011 seems to be foreboding, and I wonder if more bad news is to come.

But that really is the easy way out.  What is it about a series of bad events that makes us believe that we are unlucky or somehow cursed?  I close my eyes and see my family, and nothing but joy gratitude and loves comes into my soul.  There is not a single relative that I don’t love with all my heart and soul.  It almost seems like heresy to believe that I have the perfect family.  I know my love for them is imperfect because I do not thank God or revel in my blessings of having a truly amazing family enough.  I would daresay that my family is worlds better than the ones I hear about in fictional novels.  I have the ULTIMATE FAMILY, and their wondrous love and prayers are the reason I can sit here clacking away while she struggles with her pain.

Their thoughts and prayers are the reason I know with all my heart and soul that this too shall pass.  That this stupid Cancer is merely a minor bump on the long road of life.  And I pray even harder.  Pray for my blessings, pray that I am at the unfortunate cross roads to hear about friends parents dying, sibling suffering uncalled for pain,  and it makes me ache for my mom and dad who are merely a block away from me physically but always reside in my heart.  I fall in love each time my sisters come over or her brothers do.  Her mom’s pain reverberates in my heart, and I wish I could inhale all their worry and fear.  So I thank God yet again for joining us with them.  For giving us real soldiers so we can mercilessly kill the killer.

And then I come to my friends.  I always thought I had a few good friends, but this recent adventure of ours has introduced me to an amazing soul:Biba, who has selflessly given her time and energy to heal the love of my life.  She made the chemo session seem as just a routine doctor’s visit and I do not think I can ever thank enough.  And then there are others who think they can achieve comfort by merely texting or leaving quick voice mails.  Don’t get me wrong the concern is real but it’s minuscule as if the disease she’s batting is minor or one that can fit in 140 characters or less.   The sad part is that healing her takes nothing more than their physical contact but it’s treated as if  she’s not worth that.  And it hurts.  But we move on because we have to, and we will remember.  They are the past, and the future we have looks brighter due to the shining souls in our life.  The rest of them can take their indifferent asses back to Facebook, Twitter and texts, and become as irrelevant as the social media horse they rode in on.