“It doesn’t matter if your glass is half full or half empty.
Be grateful that you have a glass and there is something in it.”
~ Unknown
Mom had a procedure this morning that was to include a biopsy of the ‘obstruction’ in her lung. Her good friend, Zula Ray Johnson, came all the way from Magoffin County to be with her (that’s a pretty far piece for those not from eastern Kentucky). I’ve known Zula Ray my entire life. I love her name, and I learned that her mother’s name was Rula, though I didn’t ask if it was followed by Ray. She is the adult Sunday School teacher at my grandmother’s little church in West Liberty. Her oldest son and I are the same age. Mamaw was our Sunday School teacher when we were children. Zula and mom both sing in the church choir and take turn about playing piano. Mamaw loved Zula Ray, and with good reason. She is as steadfast, trustworthy, and faithful as can be. It eased mom’s mind to have Zula Ray offer a prayer before the procedure. Those prayers were answered as we learned that she does not have lung cancer. In fact, there was no ‘obstruction’ to biopsy! (the obstruction, it turns out, is a calcified lymph node). Of course, this doesn’t explain what’s causing the blood clots, but whatever it is, it’s not in her lungs. We take our blessings where we get them.
After the procedure we learned that one of mom’s oldest, dearest friends, Peggy Stevens, was in a room just down the hall. We stopped in so the ladies could visit. Like Zula Ray, I’ve known Peggy my whole life. Our families used to vacation together, share holidays together, have parties together. Peggy’s only son, Rick, became my older brother. We were perfect for each other. Never a dull moment. In fact, we were pretty dang funny. I marvel at the mom and Peggy’s enduring friendship. How they treated one another showed me how to behave with my friends. Today wasn’t a perfect day, but it was as blessed as any I’ve ever had for so many reasons, not the least of which is appreciating three very strong women and the power of friendship.
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