We were dropped off at the I-435 bridge over the Missouri River.. We planned to camp for the night. By 11 pm we were bored and not able to sleep. The walk home would be about 10 miles and that seemed better than waiting out the night. The shortest route home would take us through an area known for dark things; a place called Wolcott.
A few miles into our walk home, near the dam of Wyandotte County Lake there was a swampy area; a flooded lowland forest. The moonlit night was bright and standing on a levy we heard a noise. Our eyes were quickly drawn to the figure of a man who thought he was hidden by the night. He didn’t answer when we said “Hello”, then crawled into the water between us, up to his neck, and moved directly toward us. He emerged 20 yards from us at the base of the levy.
Why did he not answer? Who could know his intentions? Not us. So we ran. Knives drawn for whatever good that would have done while running. Adrenaline carried us. We stopped a half mile from the road that would put us in familiar territory. We kept looking back to see if we were followed. Ahead on the road, we saw headlights scanning back and forth as if looking for someone. Us?
Three hours later, and a whole other story later, we made it home. It was the most scared I had ever been…….. until January 30, 2013.
After several days of feeling relatively good, last night began a 24 hour period of Tara feeling absolutely awful. Hopefully 24 doesn’t turn into 48. We are counting on a great Mothers Day. We need that. She needs that.
One can get numb to the uncertain condition. But not to the real discomfort that comes with chemo. You can’t get numb to that. There are times when Tara feels good, and other times awful. This just happens to be the latter. But we know it will pass. I just hate watching her leaning over the toilet crying for this to go away. She hurts. I hurt.
I pray tomorrow will be a real special day for Tara.