I woke up from being dead. Found my crown and stumbled into cancer, now I’m only dying…

You have to die of something.

I had big dreams. Rats hate dreamers. They see you thinking across the way, and if they feel you have a trickle of an idea, they distract you. Make you doubt. You end up stuffing them away.

If you stay clear of the rat, be careful how loud you think, and then if and when you take action on a dream, LOOK OUT! Walk softly and be careful who you share those dreams with. RATS have friends in low places, and they communicate with just a scratch.

If you dream loud enough, dangle your dreams too loosely, that head Rat will gather a convention of rats, mulling all over your attempts at rolling out even the smallest of game plans of dreams.

What few rats I knew in my pre-twenties were nothing compared to those ahead of me.

First things first. Finding my “Elvis”! High hopes I had as I whistled into my 20s. Ran down the aisle so fast, never thinking it would not last.

I thought I married an Elvis, but he quickly became a Rat whose fang hung off to one side of his mouth, drooling at my next whimper of a dream. He chewed and whittled away at my spirit. It didn’t take long, and soon that Rat killed me early on in my marriage. My non-living life became a numb walk of death—lost years of dreams snatched. Then came the immaculate conception, my son.

Labor should have shocked me to a pulse, but it didn’t. It took that one last thing that the Rat could have done that shot light into my coffin, which revived in me a jolting breath of clean fresh air. It was like all the clouds from heaven rushed into my coffin and blew a wind like a hurricane into my dead body.

It was instant, I ran to the van with my one-year-old in one hand and the diaper bag in the other. From a distance, I heard a bell. It was Mother’s dinner bell. I went home. Had dinner, and they slowly helped me remember who I was.

“Honeygirl, you are rare. God didn’t make anyone else like you. Take the crown he made for you, place it back on your head. Those dreams will come back to you, and our little boy, and you will find a place where dreams come true. I promise. (She held out her pinky to me.) I pinky promise!”

I placed that crown on my head, put my shoulders back, and went to the doctor to figure out why my breast was burning…on the way into Mayo, I swear I heard a Rat.

CANCER, rare like me. Only one year to live, the floating doctor at Rochester said. He said he never met anyone like me, with a crown. I told him I was made for a mission and would rock those study drugs. Ding the bell, I said, and off I went, tickled to think that if this was the worst thing, then he never knew how much I got done when I was alive!

Remission. Twenty-three years, and thankfully, now I’m only dying! Like everyone else.

Rats are everywhere. I try to use caution when dreaming today. I’m still in development. Follow my blog and let’s celebrate history, even those days, months, years, it takes to kill off the Rats of life!

Look for the RAT on my post. Losing history is inevitable for each of us. Like Mother said, “There’s only one thing in this world you can count on beside your dear old mother….the rain! So here, take your umbrella everywhere you go and keep looking up! There is always a bird flying after the rain!”

DING THE BELL!

RATS!

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