The other day, I was thinking back to what I did just before I went blueberry picking in Hatcher’s Pass—wondering, in effect, what my life had been like. You see, I am constantly getting grilled on whether things are back to normal yet. The answer is no, of course not. I feel better, certainly, but even when you consider how unhealthy I felt before we found the tumor, I am still physically much too tired to measure up to the day before it all began. That Wednesday, I remember working hard all day long, rounding up my day with a meeting for my calling at 7 pm and then afterward picking raspberries at my in-law’s house. I was wearing a head-lamp by the time I got done, somewhere around 11 pm. It was a long and exhausting day, but fulfilling. I woke the next morning with a headache behind my right eye, which I double dosed with some Ibuprofen and blissfully went blueberry picking. Not very self-aware, I’ll admit, but that’s how things were right before the heroine fell.
One of my regrets as I left Anchorage was my raspberries. They are really the only successful berries I have every nourished. Berries on are abundant and wild where I have grown up and lived. So raspberries canes that were 3 years and producing felt luxurious. I hope the new people see them and loved them as I did. A lot of hope for little bushes.
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