Red, yellow, and some warm earth tones, created with healing in mind. Delivered to my husband and brought home to me. The wife of one of Bob’s employees crafted each row with painstaking care – artful precision. Folded up and waiting on the love seat in our bedroom. I left it there as if leaving it untouched might delay the day of my surgery. Yet the calendar pages turned and without my permission the day arrived.

Coming home from the hospital, my eye acknowledged its vibrant colors. Positioning myself in my friend’s borrowed recliner, I begged sleep to come. I read a new “book-friend” into the wee hours of the night with my pink (Yes, I recognize the irony here) flashlight. Our dog, Gracie, and my Love, Bob, slumbered nearby in our bed. Their gentle rumbles of sleep comforted me. The recliner seemed to hold me together, the drains bumping against the soft fabric. I covered myself with the rainbow of colors, feeling broken and small.

My season of healing faded into a sea of acceptance. I folded the brilliant colors up and stacked them atop the love seat. The recliner made its way back to my friend’s house as my Love and I tried to navigate our way back to Normal. All the while it sat perched upon our love seat, imploring me to touch its delicate stitches. I refused to cross the chasm- if I touched the warm colors I might traverse back to my season of sickness.

Two years have passed and it is a blustery day- the kind of day that begs to be wrapped in hot tea and a rainbow of colors. I walked to our room and saw it there. I touched it. I peered into the doorway of my recovery. I tiptoed in and picked it up. I reclined on our bed for a nap, wrapping myself in its warmth. I didn’t see cancer this time. Instead I saw the afghan. The colors were beautiful and invited me to rest here for a season.