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After doctors only gave me two years to live, my dreams have changed….
I’ve always had strange dreams—for as long as I can remember. In elementary school, I didn’t understand them. But by the time I hit middle school, I knew they were something special. “If there’s one thing I hate,” my best friend said at lunch one day, “it’s hearing about people’s dreams. Booo-ring!”
How could anyone say that? Even as a teenager, I felt dreams showed a path to the soul. I could go to sleep contemplating problems, and the answer would come in a dream. One time I stressed about what to sew for a contest and even dreamed up an incredible pattern.
Anyway, now that I have cancer, my problems have changed. Instead of wondering what to sew for a contest or how to tie up loose plot lines for a novel, I’m asking humanity’s oldest questions: What’s the point of life? What’s the point of MY life? What happens after I die? Where did it all begin? And what gives a life meaning?
Surprisingly, I’ve gone to sleep asking these questions and actually gotten answers. Yes, it’s mostly allegorical and a bit confusing. Several of the dreams have someone who claims to be God right before they reveal an amazing truth. Do I really think God is coming to me in dreams? Probably not. But at least I’m feeling peace about a lot of issues as I’ve mulled mortality, sickness, and the meaning of life.
Right before my surgery last week, I thought about all of this. “What is the point—and why am I still here?” I thought. Oncologists are starting to say I actually might beat this. Yet, other patients—my friends who had much better diagnoses—have died while I’m still here. Maybe I’m having survivor’s remorse. I want to live, but I feel so badly for the people who have died.
Anyway, I went to sleep and had one of the most powerful dreams I’ve ever had. I won’t go into full detail except to say this: In my dream every person started life with a brilliant light burning inside of them. When they were positive, the light would burn even brighter. But when they were negative, the light would lessen.
“Many people have forgotten their God-given spark,” a woman said in the dream. “We each have it, but it’s so easy to be negative. And sometimes people’s lights go out. If you say or do something negative, you must balance it AT LEAST with the equal amount of positive. But people forget to nurture their light. Your purpose, Elisa, is quite simple. You must remind people that it’s not worth being negative because it leads to darkness. Simply share your perspective and help people keep their flames burning.”
I knew the dream would change my life. And several days after my surgery, I kept thinking about it—especially on one specific occasion. Mike brought me to a store, but the pain in my leg from muscle atrophy and severed nerves, made it nearly unbearable to walk. So—practically being a saint—Mike pushed me in a wheelchair.
At one point, he left me to look in one aisle as he went to another, and an eccentric woman came up to me. “Why in the world are you in a wheelchair?” she asked.
I’d done my hair up, fixed my makeup, and I wore a beautiful low-cut dress that framed my bust. I’m sure I looked “the vision of health.” Despite this—and her intrusive questions that I didn’t NEED to answer—I told her about stage four cancer, previous and recent surgeries, and extreme fatigue from ongoing treatments.
“I never would’ve guessed. You don’t look like you have cancer. You’re too young. I feel so bad for you.” Then she went on and on.
Not long after, when Mike brought me to the car, tears filled my eyes. “What’s wrong?” Mike asked.
And as I told him how much I hate being pitied—and about the nosy woman in aisle seven—I felt my inner light getting dimmer and dimmer.
“What is wrong with people?” Mike asked.
“Wait,” I said. “You remember my dream about everyone having a light inside them?”
Mike nodded.
“I feel mine dimming. It’s metaphorical, but you know what I mean. All of the negative things I just felt and said, I need to counteract it.” So I started thinking of positive things. “I must seem very approachable,” I said slowly. “The woman felt at home enough that she could even ask me what’s wrong. AND she said she’ll never forget me or my story because she’d been focusing on unimportant things.” And the more Mike and I said—both agreeing to only be positive—the more I felt my inner light turning from a dim flicker to a blaze.
Several days have passed, and I’ve remembered that flame and how I don’t want to be negative and jeopardize dimming my light over petty things. And I can say, this mindset has completely transformed how I feel inside.
A few people have thought my dreams are “odd” or “the product of stress.” But I’ve found the lessons in them to be quite profound. Whatever someone might think, I do hope this is my purpose: to help people see the best in themselves and to realize God’s put something special in all of us—a divine spark. If my dreams have taught me anything, it is that life is far too short to spend time dimming our lights with negativity. Why not dwell on the positive and let joy light the way?
Dreams - I've been known to interpret my own, so, I'm a believer in dreams and also, if you are open to it, having God Speak to you through your dreams. So, even though Elisa allow doubt as she wrote this story, I think it was indeed a God Incident for her... For certainly, anybody who has gotten to know her, through her books, or especially at Facebook, have to realize that she has been given a gift from God to spread "good news" about having cancer... No, not about a possible healing, which certainly could happen, but, in my opinion, more importantly, sharing her own life experience to all of us who are scared whenever the word cancer enters into our lives... I've had two operations to remove tumors that could easily have turned cancerous if they were not caught in time. And I thank God for getting me into a place where I had to put my own personal health above doing what I loved to do... Write Reviews and share about books. Like Elisa, I've had some experiences through dreams that have changed my life... And that is really the key to it, don't you think? We need to keep our mind and body in good health physically and emotionally so that we can do all that is needed to keep our life moving forward... BTW, some of you may recognize this article from a recent post. I grabbed it and got Elisa's permission to use it... I've included a song that will always remind me of my mother... Beautiful Dreamer... I remember when we'd be heading to Ohio or some other place where it took a long time to get there... We would all be tired of riding and quiet. All of a sudden, my Mom would call out, "Do you all want me to sing...and then she would begin singing Beautiful Dreamer. It's funny, all of her kids could sing, but she really sounded awful and we'd all moan and tell her to stop... Now, as I'm looking back, remembering, I'm wondering if she might have just sang it that way so we would brighten up and laugh...or maybe her age had changed her voice, as my has since I've reached and pass her age when she died...Either way, that song will always speak to me... Thanks to Elisa for allowing me to put together this music script to go along with her words... Much love to you for your positive words shared, girlfriend!
When you strip me of everything: my ability to play the violin, my health, my love of writing.... When you get to the essence of who I am, I just wonder if I’ll be good enough to spend eternity wherever God is.--Elisa
The Feather Boomerang...
My mom used to tell me that if I found a white feather it meant an angel was around, looking out for me. I didn’t believe her, even if it was a neat idea. As the days have passed, I’ve sure wished an angel could be here, with me as I fight cancer...
I lifted my violin from its case. “I’m gonna play some oldies. That’s what I heard you like.” I snapped my shoulder rest into place and tightened my bow. “Mrs. Beck,” I said, because I’m super direct, “you keep calling me kid, but you said I’m older than you expected.” “Anyone under fifty is a kid to me. And they keep bringing preteens over to see me—like they’re doing a good deed or something. Why are you here anyway, Elisa? Why did you come?”
I thought for a minute. “I guess I just want to make you forget whatever it is you’re going through, even if it’s just for a minute. Focus on something else and enjoy.” I set my violin on my shoulder. “So, I have a favor to ask you. Set down your cigarette and close your eyes.” She kinda snort-laughed, set her ciggy down, then snuggled into that huge white pillow before closing her eyes. “Now, as I play, I want you to picture a story.” And I started. First, I played the beginning of “Bridge Over Troubled Water” by Simon and Garfunkel. The music started out quiet—a trickle of spring rain. I sang the song’s words in my head as I played, causing a whirlwind of emotion to burst from my violin. And Mrs. Beck must’ve felt it because little tears seeped from the sides of her eyes. She glowed, so utterly beautiful, like an elderly Snow White or something’ with her sheared, dyed-black hair and leathery face. But instead of lying there, waiting for the kiss of her prince, she was dying. Waiting for the kiss of God. Tears heated my eyes too, and I told myself to quit being such a freakin’ pansy. I shut my lids. Instead of letting my emotion escape through the weakness in my eyes, I pushed that pain into my arms, my hands, my fingertips. And I played that violin, like a flippin’ lover. It cried in my arms, wailing over the melodies and having so much power it reacted to the sheer feeling flooding my body. I knew Mrs. Beck and her daughter could feel the sorrow buried deep in my soul—my sorrow for them. That violin was a magnifying glass, exemplifying exactly why I was there, who I was, and that I wanted to offer at least some semblance of tranquility. Then my bow grew with deep friction and strength, and I transitioned into notes and melodies that just came to me. My fingers and violin took over. That’s the funny thing about me and my fiddle; I think I have control, then that thing takes over like an addiction. I have the road map, but my fiddle has the details that always take me there—a good friend, leading me home. The song swelled, over and over. At one point, a gust of wind rode in through the open window on a high note. Right after that, my fingers and bow slowed to a stop. The notes descended to my D-string, and the weight of the music left my body. The song was over.
I held my violin at my side, that extension of self, then faced the window and closed my eyes. I didn’t want Mrs. Beck or her daughter to see me cry. I even prayed the wind would come again, and God would dry my tears. The Becks were sad enough. They didn’t need to see some kid—over thirty—crying because she “felt bad.” “Elisa,” Mrs. Beck rasped. She beckoned me to the side of her bed. I wiped my eyes, then obeyed. She reached out her wrinkled hand, with that soft, paper-thin skin, and grabbed my fingers. “That, Elisa, that was beautiful.”
“What did you see,” I asked, “when you closed your eyes?”
“Something from when I was a kid. Something I thought I forgot. My mom, dad, and I were walking in a field.” She took a very deep breath. “I miss them. They were good parents.” I had to twitch my nose just to keep from bawling even more. After all, she’d probably be reuniting with a lot of people soon. I put my violin away, then hugged Mrs. Beck and her daughter. “It was nice meeting both of you,” I said. I left the house and never saw either of them again.
Even before Elisa had learned of her diagnosis of cancer and her subsequent writing of her latest book, Two More Years, she had been providing support for those in need, in one way or another. In the right column of my blog, scroll down to do a search for Stilson's books already reviewed... Search on EC Stilson.
This latest book, however, was a true God Incident for me... Elisa calls them breadcrumbs. Immediately, you know, like Gretel left breadcrumbs so they could find their way home, I pictured breadcrumbs being dropped from Heaven to show Elisa the way home, some day... Frankly, her book oozes with dreams or encounters in which Elisa was involved that, to me, resulted in Zap!, Zap!, Zap! and more Zaps... It seemed everything she has been dealing with during the period after which she was diagnosed with State 4, Melanoma, she has been surrounded by God or his angels, human and heavenly! Of course, for those of us who have been connected for a while with her, we recognize just how she draws people out just by being...Elisa! And even though she had gone through many trials, including the loss of Zeke, her son, she, was, for the most part, wondering whether she was still...worthy... of even spending eternity with God...
During this last book, her best, in my opinion, she has many of her earlier experiences brought to mind, as she is dealing with her pain, or the latest test, or scan of her body. One is described so realistically, that I felt myself pulling in my own body in empathetic screams of fear of what was being done...
You see, no matter what is the truth, Elisa has decided to share as much as she can so that others may be at least prepared for what they might one day have to deal with, with cancer... And, to remind us that, if Elisa can do it, so can we...But it takes God's help to walk in her slippers... Because, it is clear that God is using this Girl God Incident, to speak to me...and to, possibly, millions of people across the world... I consider this a Must-Read, not just because of learning about the reality of melanoma, but for all of the other issues, beyond medically involved, that readers will find while meandering along with Elisa as she writes about this or that...or more on that... The book is divided into chapters; however, the narrative many times feels like an insert into a journal, a diary... The openness, the intimacy of her inner thoughts are revealed in such a way that, by the end of this and other books, we may feel like we know her! And indeed, she shares about at least one individual who came up to her and cried out, "Elisa," as if she was a long-lost friend... who Elisa could not remember... Only to discover that the individual and she had indeed never met... THAT'S how Elisa becomes to each of us who reads her words--her desires, her fears, her joys, her love, her...everything... It's laid bare because SHE is part of a plan that God has for her...and readers are privy to her wanderings and wonderings as she follows where He leads...
I was lost at the picnic. Droves of people weaved past, making me feel minuscule—insignificant. Then I saw her. The woman wore short brownish-auburn hair, a checkered apron, and the cutest smile ever. She parted the crowd easier than Moses parted the Red Sea, and I giggled when I spotted her! My grandma—that tricky possum—ran toward me and clutched my hand. “You don’t need to be scared of them,” she said, motioning to the crowd, “or of the future. It’s all been figured out.”
And as soon as I saw her, I wasn’t scared at all because, well, I wasn’t quite so lost anymore. My grandma died over a decade ago, and we had so much to catch up on. I wanted to tell her all about my kids and our lives. Relay to her how hard it’s been being sick, hurting so much, and watching everyone else worry and cry. I wanted to tell her that the thought of an early death is daunting because I don’t feel like it’s time to go.
As if she heard my quietest thoughts, she peered into my eyes with so much love, and whispered, “Now, you’re gonna come here much earlier than you’d want to. But don’t be scared, Elisa. I get to be the one to show you around and help you get used to things. That’s why I’m here, to tell you I’m waiting. Don’t be scared. I’m here waiting to help you.” I glanced at her apron again—something she’d always worn during her life—and with that vision slowly fading, I woke up.
Now many might think that the dream was just a work of the subconscious mind, trying to deal with what might happen in the future... But, did you ever hear about getting a confirmation? Well, Elisa tells about receiving a package of goodies from one of her relatives...and in it, surprisingly perhaps, was an apron... Me, I call that a true God Incident... Signed, Sealed and Delivered! Cool, right?!
But there is much to ponder and consider as your life takes a unplanned for path...
“I’m scared. I’m so dehydrated and sick. I feel feverish. If things don’t get better fast, I’ll need to go to the ER.” Mike brought me some food and a drink. I tried to eat slowly, but despite anti nausea medications, my stomach already churned. “Mike,” I said, “can you please pray for me?” Mike doesn’t pray. But he did then—and it meant the world to me.
After falling asleep, I rested in the fetal position in God’s massive hand. I couldn’t see anything other than His hand and the sky which He lifted me into. And even though I didn’t have a blanket, it felt so warm and perfect. This strange energy flowed through every bit of me, simply filling me with resilience. Even in the dream, a strange thought came to me: that someday I’d be in remission. This sounds crazy because all the doctors have said I have an incurable mutation of melanoma. Even if radiation and the new immunotherapy do work, they will only extend my life, not save it. Yet, there was this feeling... and an unimaginably beautiful dream. That morning, I woke up stunned that I’d kept the food down. I sat at the kitchen table with Grandma Dee, who was visiting from Missouri, and Trey. I couldn’t shake the feeling of lying in God’s strong hand. “Look,” Trey said, pointing out the back window. Dee and I turned to see a huge hawk, perched on a branch about fifteen feet away, just staring at us. After it flew away, I tried drinking more water. Amazingly, it stayed down. I’m trying not to get my hopes up, but that dream and its premonition have buoyed me through radiation this week. What do I have to lose anyway?
Worth case, I’ll be let down; best case, I’ll see a miracle. Regardless of what happens, I’m thankful to have a renewed faith in the future.
*** “Grandma,” I said to my Grandma Stilson when I was in elementary school, “I keep going to church to get saved over and over.” My grandma was a different religion than me, and she didn’t fully understand what I tried to convey. “Wasn’t once enough?” she asked.
“Maybe,” I said. “But maybe not. I might just be bad, and that’s why God is doing this to me. When I close my eyes, I can’t make the words stop. I keep seeing stories in my head. I pray that God will save me and stop the words. He’s punishing me for when I’ve been bad. That’s why He’s making me see the words.”
She laughed so hard before trying to clarify. “Seeing the words?” “On a keyboard,” I said. “Someone’s typing them.” It was always the same. I’d see these crazy hands typing more and more. A stupid red mug—with swirly paint— sat by the keys which never stopped clicking.
“Maybe it’s you,” Grandma Stilson said. “Maybe you’re meant to be a writer.” It was my turn to laugh. “No. God is doing this ‘cause I’m bad.” Then something hit me. “If I am meant to be a writer, there’s just one thing I’ll need.” “What’s that?” “Someone who’s really good. I’ll need that person to teach me.”
My grandma died a little while after that. She’s the only grandma I’d known. Whenever I wanted to give up on anything, she would be there, wearing her beloved checkered apron, and cheering me on. After she passed, sometimes I found it hard to keep believing in myself as a writer. I think that’s why my grandma had to send me an angel.
Many years passed after my grandma’s death. I picked up writing again and even hired an editor to perfect my fantasy novel. But after I sent her the payment in full, the editor pulled out of the project. “Unfortunately, the payment was over a $1,000 worth of dresses I sewed for her daughter,” I told a friend on the phone. “Reselling them would be a nightmare. It’s just such a specific size. Plus, her daughter looks so happy in the pictures. So, I just let the lady keep them. I guess they’re going through some hard times.”
“Oh, wow.” “Yeah, but what am I supposed to do now? There’s no way I can pay someone else.” After a small pause, the woman said with a hint of excitement, “I’ll help you!” At the time I had no idea who this woman really was... (but she became soooo important!)
One of the intriguing things about Elisa is that she acknowledges a strong belief in God...but is still searching, even within the time period of the book, into different religions, since she was still not sure about Jesus...
Can't say that I blame her...Elisa, and many other young people are being turned away from Christianity in today's world. Many consider those who claim to be Christians to be hypocritical or, worse, extremely fanatic and domineering. In another book, and which is also mentioned in her latest, is the story of when Elisa first left home...after being put through what they called an exorcism by her church. Why? Because she had had sex. Today, we see things even worse, as we hear of, for example, of a ten-year-old girl in Ohio being raped through incest, and who, was forced to go out of state to get an abortion due to the ridiculously extreme laws that are being implemented by the republican party...
It appears to me that it is not God guiding these actions--rather it was a desire to regain power over women's bodies after having had women gain free access and attention to a comprehensive medical review related to all aspects of women's reproduction concerns which should always be something discussed between the female and the doctor! Just like that--for many those rights have gone!
Rape and Incest are, literally, rampant, at the same time that there is little if any, guidance given for teens related to sexual activity by the church. Can you imagine, after, perhaps, agreeing to sex, or having a date rape drug given to you, or, even, an incest act forced on a child by a relative, that a church would choose to have an exorcism...or, without regard to the female, be forced to have a child who has gone through date-rape or incest-rape. [Note that Elisa did become pregnant, but made her own decision to carry the child...] Hypocritical? Yes, of course! For it is men of all ages and relationships who have initiated that forced intimacy... or, just as bad, made teens of both sexes, to feel so much guilt that they were afraid of parental or religious condemnation. So fearful, that they act either to escape--to run away--or to hurt themselves thinking they have no options in any given situation.
I have to add, because both are so entwined these days... At the same time, consider the irony of this being called by Christians, Pro-Life... While NOT being willing to ban assault rifles to stop the murder of children of all ages, as they live, go to school, to church, shopping... No way around it...the logic of the republican party and the Supreme Court related to PRO-LIFE IS NON-EXISTENT! No wonder we are ALL confused with what is going on in America...
Except in placing power within hands where it does not belong!
It is quite easy to see how Elisa has grown to be leery about anything she might do or want to do. For, like many, she has not been able to find support from where it should be freely given. Based upon those early years, we see Elisa moving from depression into joy often... The key point is that, she has self-taught herself that she, by now, even as she fears for her life, can and should consider just exactly what she must do related to each situation. And, most of all, she has come to know and accept as her primary determinant, that she will do what is best for those she loves most--her husband, her children...
Yet, when she learns that her tumors are spreading, or they are
growing larger, she, just like the rest of us, becomes so scared, even to the point that the pain of the tests themselves, makes her hesitate. Can she continue to put herself through the torturous processes through which she must go to allow a certain part of her body be approached--without damaging another part....
And, each time, readers see her weighing
Face Cage worn during radiation
options, seeking help or support, even to writing to monks in South America, for prayer... and, once again, allowing herself to go through the pain with the thought of ensuring her family be together for however much longer is possible!
Elisa somewhere took a test to know her greatest strength. It came out Positivity. She was disappointed! While I, nearly twice her age, was thinking that is the best strength anybody could have! To be able, even when feeling depressed or sad, to somehow find your way out of the darkness...and back into the light! Many of us find it hard to move back into the light... But then again, we also don't have a desire to...go through an airport playing her fiddle!
Or when we are in the hospital, seek out others who may need whatever we can give...
When things had totally quieted down and the door shut, the third woman spoke. I leaned forward, grasping onto every word, but she was so terribly hard to understand. “You asked,” she lisped, “what I’ve learned. I haven’t really learned, but it’s been confirmed that life isn’t fair.”
“You got that right!” She continued to explain that the cancer started in her tongue, and she had to have some of it removed. I blinked back the heat in my eyes because I suddenly knew why she’d been so scared to talk in front of the others. “They’re doing radiation on my neck now.” She spoke slowly. “The cancer... has spread.” “I can’t imagine what you’ve been through. I thought I’d been on one helluva journey!”
“But you don’t look like there’s anything even wrong with you!” A male tech came and called my name. At that point I struggled to stand, and my back had been pulled so badly that I hunched over and tried to walk straight. The woman gasped, surprised at how I walked. “Talking with you was the best part of my day,” I said. “I’m Elisa.” “Sarah,” she said, placing her hand on her chest.
The gong resounded. Another person had finished infusions. Dozens of people clapped despite the IVs in their arms, and I was sure most of us smiled under our masks. But I wondered if anyone else felt the same way I did. I might never get to hit the gong. I might never be done with stupid infusions. I might never... get... better. I wanted to pick up the mallet and go hit it hundreds of times just to say I have. But I’m not a two-year-old, so I didn’t. I also kept myself from saying any of this out loud. My mother-in-law sat beside me as medicine dripped directly into my veins. And we really were having having the best time playing cards, visiting, and laughing. I didn’t need to mar that with a sob story. A woman near us spoke to a nurse, her words drifting through the partition that separated us.
“He’s awfully sad. He needs to do this.” My ears perked with interest. Who was sad? Who needed to do what? Then, a man’s voice began singing songs from my childhood—spiritual songs that are hard to forget. And as he quietly sang “How Great Thou Art,”
I wanted to sing with him, this faceless man who sat in another cubicle, and the desire mounted stronger than almost anything in the world. But it seemed embarrassing to sing in front of my mother-in-law and more than fifty other people in the room. Sure, they couldn’t see my face, but they would hear me. “I’ll be right back,” my mother-in-law said as if discerning my thoughts, and when she walked away the man started singing one of my favorite songs in the whole world. “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God Almighty.”
I held my mouth shut. I’m not even religious anymore. I go to church, and I love God with all my heart, but I don’t believe most of the things they teach. And yet, I could not control myself. I breathed deeply. I didn’t need to sing with this poor man. Why was the desire overpowering? “Holy,” my voice joined his. “Holy.” The harmony floated atop his deep baritone—matching perfectly in thirds. He must’ve heard me because his voice swelled with strength. He’d been shaky and scared at one point, but now his song grew strong and majestic.
“Almighty God,” the words just flowed. And as we got louder everyone in the room quieted and simply listened to a moment that will always resonate within my soul. We sang several verses and as much as it had grown, it finally came to a quiet, beautiful close.
When we finished, a woman whispered, “Did you... did you... hear that voice singing with you?” “You heard it too?” the man asked, dumbfounded. And even though we’re not supposed to bother other patients, I grabbed my IV stand, stood from my chair, and peeked over my cubicle. “It was me,” I said, almost giggling.
A stunning girl of about twenty stared at me with the widest eyes. Her dark skin glowed, and she beamed under her mask. “That was amazing you started singing too. I can’t believe you knew the words.” “Thanks for letting me join in. Hang in there, you two. This isn’t easy.” And although I couldn’t see the man from my angle, I sat down as my mother-in-law returned to the room.
“I sang with him!” I gushed. “It was awesome!” My mother-in-law laughed. She’s the sweetest woman, so full of love even though I’m the most random person ever. The singer and his guest must’ve left soon after because a couple of the nurses came over to me and said, “That man was so sad and scared. His daughter said singing always makes him feel better. And what you both did. Well, that is one of the neatest things we’ve had happen in the infusion room.”
“I couldn’t help myself. But next time, you guys need to join in!” “I really wanted to, but I didn’t know the words. And then I realized, nobody wants to hear me sing,” one of the nurses said, laughing. “Oh, but I do! So, get ready for it. I’ll be back in three weeks. While all of you are singing, I get to play the gong!” I could just see myself going crazy with the gong while everyone sang. It’s probably my favorite memory so far from this crappy cancer business: the time I got to sing with a perfect stranger who found some unexpected strength right there in the infusion unit. I still can’t believe they momentarily thought I was a real, live angel!
She got a mischievous grin. “Well, I’m not the one who painted it, but I know who did. And those notes on there... well, they might actually be a real song. Maybe you should try playing it.” So, that afternoon Mike and I pulled out my violin and asked the kids if they could video us as I tried deciphering the notes from the rock. Mike had to hold it on his lap, since it’s so heavy. But he said he’d rotate it slowly as I finished each section. Indy began recording as Trey sat and watched. The notes came out tranquilly tranquilly at first. I had no idea what the song might be until we reached the third measure. After that, the melody swelled inside of my chest, and the meaning behind the words shot through my heart and my fingers. I could hardly believe what song the artist had chosen: “You Raise Me Up.” The words empowered me as my bows skillfully danced across the strings. I thought of standing strong and braving stormy seas. My violin rose to new registers as I willed myself to “be more” and totally trust in God’s will...
Everyone wants to die well, valiantly, in a way that will make our loved ones proud. I didn’t want to be a sniveling person begging to end the pain or crying out for more life. At the Yom Kippur meeting, they talked about forgiving ourselves and others, about releasing ourselves from vows we’d felt forced to make, or vows we made but could no longer keep. I remembered my New Year’s resolution for 2020. “I vow to become as refined as possible,” I’d said quietly to myself. More than a year of hell later, refinement didn’t sound quite as romantic. That’s a vow I’d like to forget.
When I returned to the synagogue for the second Yom Kippur meeting the next day, I had no idea what to expect, but I knew one thing: It was time to let go of refinement and unattainable goals of perfection.
“God,” I prayed during one of the songs, “I get it now. We were never made to be perfect. I might as well be chasing rainbows, trying to reach my self-imposed goals. Can you please just love me, always, as I am? I make more mistakes than anyone I know, but I love you with everything. Please be with me in life and when I die too. I feel ridiculous asking for you to heal me, but please have your will in my life.”
About this time, I felt thoughts and words coming into my mind... God Incident Walking Through Me Now, selecting music and more...
I exhaled, feeling oddly lighter than I had in years. And when I opened my eyes, a strange light shone through the synagogue windows. “Kadosh. Kadosh. Kadosh. The whole world is filled with your glory.” The music seemed more ancient than time, forged by generations of people who unflinchingly revere God.
Given the power of the music and the place itself, maybe it shouldn’t be surprising that when I looked down, something surreal unfolded: The sun shot through the glowing stained glass and highlighted specific words on the program I held. I read the accentuated words. “We are filled with your strength. The strength to bear our afflictions. Add your strength to ours, oh God. So that when death casts its shadow we shall yet be able to say: ‘Oh Source of Blessing. You are with us in death as in life.’
Those words. I can’t tell you the power of the words “in death as in life.” I knew then God would never abandon me.
A powerful musician stood in front of the congregation and blew the shofar horn with such beautiful resonance that it stunned me. The blast lasted much longer than I’d expected, then went up a fifth and continued until it vibrated me to the core. I cried right there, my program still illuminated as I shook, my burdens lifted, and my heart full. Before the “break the fast” celebration, I managed to catch a couple of pictures of my program before the lighting changed too much. The whole world really is filled with His glory.
Dear Friend, My Elisa,
How are you? I just had to send a note to tell you how much I care about you.
I saw you yesterday as you were talking with your friends. I waited all day hoping you would want to talk with me too. I gave you a sunset to close your day and a cool breeze to rest you--and I waited. You never came. It hurt me--but I still love you because I am your friend.
I saw you sleeping last night and longed to touch your brow so I spilled moonlight upon your face. Again I waited, wanting to rush down so we could talk. I have so many gifts for you. You awoke and rushed off to other things. My tears were in the rain.
If you would only listen to me! I love you! I try to tell you in blue skies and in the quiet green grass! I try to whisper it in leaves on the trees and breathe it in colors of flowers, shout it to you in mountain streams, give the birds love songs to sing. And brought other, stronger, birds outside your window, to tell I'm here to protect you. I clothe you with warm sunshine and perfume the air with nature scents. My love for you is deeper than the ocean and bigger than the biggest need in your heart!
Ask me! Talk with me! Please don't forget me...You knew me long before that false prophet came into your life, who used my name to exorcise something that was not my will for him to do... I still love you and have so much to share with you! Wipe those memories from your mind as I now speak to you alone... I need no other to speak for me, other than what I have placed in your heart--My Holy Spirit... My words will guide you each day if you will open your ears to hear my words... I do love you... I died for you... That ensures that you will be with Us Always...Yes, for Eternity...just as you long for...
I won't hassle you any further. It is YOUR decision. I have chosen you and I will wait-- I love you. I really am in no hurry... I am the Holy Trinity--God, the Father, Yeshua the Son. and I will give you His Spirit's gifts to dwell inside of you... Whenever you are ready... And you will never feel alone again. Or Wonder if You Will Abide in me Always... Because, I AM... And I Love You Elisa, Child of My Heart!
In 2020, doctors gave me two years to live. I sat in the hospital bed, completely stunned after this diagnosis. Two years... I was only 37, and I couldn't imagine dying before turning 40.
Suddenly, all of my past accomplishments seemed so paltry and insignificant. Who cared that I once ran a newspaper, that I'd managed a medical practice, or that I'd owned successful businesses? Who cared about my bachelor's degree or a stupid wall I'd once had lined with awards and certificates? Faced with death... nothing seemed to matter except the people I loved most. I just wanted them to know how much they meant to me—how much I didn't want to leave them, especially my kids. But this was during the height of COVID concerns, and as such, medical staff wouldn't even allow my children into the facility. So there I sat, contemplating the future.
I stayed in that hospital through surgeries and treatments for over a month. I knew, that single diagnosis—stage 4 melanoma—would spur even more hospitalizations, surgeries, infusion treatments, and radiation therapies that would probably last for the rest of my short life. Despite the seemingly hopelessness of my plight, when I got home from that first hospital stay, I formulated a plan. New things mattered to me: I would live differently, show my family how much I loved them, and pack into two years what some people miss in their entire lifetimes.
Norma Furniss, an avid reader of the newspaper I once ran, left me a typewriter after she died. I still remember setting my walker next to the Quiet Riter in my home. Why had she given me her typewriter? Back before the melanoma had riddled my spine and brain with tumors, Norma had thought I was "somethin' special." Yet, this gift meant even more after my diagnosis because it became my lifeline. Somehow, almost directed by fate, I began documenting my new way of life (my ups and downs, my successes and failures). I'd always loved writing, but I never fully understood how healing it could be. This all started on Norma's Quiet Riter, a typewriter that's almost 70 years old, and transitioned to social media.
As of Oct. 30, 2022, it'll be exactly two years since doctors put an expiration date on my life. I'm still fighting cancer, but some shocking things have happened. I've gained 52,000 followers across my social media channels, my cancer memoir got published and became a No. 2 bestseller on Amazon, and I've checked off many goals I had on my list before cancer even reached my radar.
But, although these things seem wonderful, after everything I've endured, the thing I'm most grateful for is that my family and friends know how much I love them. No matter how long I live, I honestly think my words will stay with my husband and children for as long as they need them. After everything, I'm happy God gave me the last two years--at least--to make these unforgettable memories with my children. There is hope for me. Some of the cancer in my body has died while the root site remains. But like I told someone the other day, my cancer might not be in remission—yet—but at least my crappy attitude sure is.
--Elisa
EC Stilson,
author of Two More Years
Two More Years is a memoir by EC Stilson that details her journey as she battles cancer and learns to live again. Elisa was married to Mike and had four kids already when she was diagnosed with stage four melanoma. After many bad diagnoses and wishing for Doctor House to be real, Elisa’s oncologist finally figured out what was wrong with her and gave her two years to live. With cancer now spread to her spine and brain, there wasn’t much hope for her. However, Elisa decided to live the most in the remaining time she had, share happiness with her children, and talk with other terminally ill people. While she had no idea what life had in store for her, Elisa decided she would live the remainder of her days on her terms and not as a hopeless mess.
Two More Years is just a beautiful and emotional memoir. Author EC Stilson lets her words guide the reader through her story. From her diagnosis to the hopeful ending, she lays her heart bare for the world to read and take courage from. I loved how, even when she received her diagnosis, Elisa wasn’t screaming and angry at the world (although she was rightfully shocked). My heart broke when I read that radiation scene, and I hope she and no one ever has to go through it. She decided to battle on and that she would not be a victim. Her determination, courage, and her hope were all very inspirational. Although a seasoned author, Stilson didn’t use any big words or try to sound intellectual. She laid down the facts in the simplest of words so that more and more people can understand what she says and take courage. I hope we all find a "Mike" to be by our side.
Reviewed by Rabia Tanveer
for Readers' Favorite 5 Stars
Elisa, Thank you so much for sharing about your latest book...and the reason for it... I'm finishing reading the story right now, and will be providing my thoughts on her story next... Right now, I will share that, no matter what you are facing in your life, reading Elisa's story will undoubtedly provide some words that will touch you... At this time in America, I must call it as I "feel" it... It's a Must Read recommendation... More soon!
When Elisa had had enough from what was happening at home...she knew she had no choice... She was leaving... And when Cade knew that she was serious, he agreed to go with her. They had a little money, but money wasn't the issue. She knew that they could make money singing on the streets...and if they reached Hawaii, like they planned, the weather would be warm enough that they wouldn't need to pay for a place to stay... they would sleep under the stars! Surely, they could make enough to pay for food. But, no matter what, she was leaving.
Hopefully, God would still love her enough to be with them on their journey... Elisa was lost, confused, and just a little scared. After all, she had practically been kicked out by her family as well as the church. One time...just once...she'd had sex. They claimed a demon must have entered her...and they performed an exorcism...
All she knew was that she had lost her sense of well being. She felt unloved, except by Cade, but, really, she just wasn't sure about the most important being in her life! Did God still love her? That's what caught in her mind, her heart, and her very being... Who was she? Was she still a Child of God, albeit a sinful one? And, if they really had to perform that exorcism, did they get that demon out of her? Even while plans were made, and the trip started, Elisa was bothered...
I stood in the middle of a tunnel where a light shone from miles away at the far end. I chuckled to myself. "Of course, I'm in a tunnel. Why does everyone have to see a light at the end?"
A voice spoke near me, "Because it's easy to process. But you won't be going there just yet. You're here because you seek answers."
A light clicked on above my head, and I looked over to see a short, old man standing next to me.
"Wait," I murmured. "This is all wrong. You can't just turn on a light in the middle of the tunnel. That's what amazes everyone on Earth—the light at the end of the tunnel."
He chuckled. "Is it so hard to think that the light can be wherever you invite it?"
I just gawked at him.
"Back to the point. We don't have much time. Your body is currently on a flight to Hawaii. I need to ask you a few things before you wake up."
"Okay?" I paused. The man was crazy.
"Why are you running away, Elisa?"
"I'm not running away. I prefer the term 'seeking answers.'" "Fine, why are you running away to seek answers?"
My hands went into my pockets as I kicked a stupid rock resting on the tunnel's floor. "People said such terrible things. They think I'm someone I'm not. Or even worse...they want me to be someone I'm not. I guess I'm tired of everyone else telling me who I am."
"Especially when you don't even know who you are?" I thought for a minute and nodded. "So, I don't get to go to the end of the tunnel?"
"Not now. You still have so much to learn." And with that he stood on tiptoe, put his thumb on my forehead, and blew into my face. His breath smelled just like my grandpa's—like peppermint and Sen-Sen. Memories swirled around me as he touched my face. I heard Poodle-face—a girl from high school—telling me what a loser I was. I heard all of the kids at church saying how I'd lost my virginity and been possessed by demons. And as each memory swirled, those people appeared like ghosts in front of me. They piled wood at my feet.
"Carry this trash with you," a girl from church said. "It's a symbol of who you are."
Soon a mound of wood rested at my feet. The short man took his thumb from my forehead, and although the ghostly visions vanished, the wood remained. "Pick it up," the old man said. "This wood is God's sign of who you are. You want to find yourself, then pick it up."
I fumbled, grabbing all the pieces. "If you insist on remembering these things and seeing yourself how everyone else sees you, pick it up."
"But that's not how I want to see things! I swear!" I tried letting go of the wood, but it instantly stuck to wherever I'd touched it. "You can't change who you are," the man said. "And you might be able to run away from everyone else, but you can't run from God. You can't run away from yourself."
"I don't want to carry all this."
"Then get rid of it yourself." He studied my awkward burden-laden movements. "You really did leave to discover who you are. You just might be surprised. How silly that some of your relatives thought you left just because of a boy."
"Really?" I asked, straining from the weight I bore.
"Yes, for a fling."
"Cade's not why I left. I would have gone anyway." "You left to find yourself. I wonder why Cade left."
The man's words faded as he disappeared. Then the light turned off, even the one at the end of the tunnel...
As we walked to the shore, I thought about the dream I hadn't had in a while—about the strange burden of wood. What was God trying to show me? The answers remained right in front of me just as the sand had waited to anchor Cade. What could I possibly learn from my burden and all those mean things people had said about me back home?
Elisa, at just 17, and Cade finally arrived in Hawaii--a place where many dream of visiting, at least on a short vacation. But, this was to be an adventure like no other for the couple. They had no money for shelter, and soon learned that they weren't allowed to sleep on the beaches. Instead the homeless were assigned one place and that was a place with many people who, actually, could be dangerous or thieves... It was not someplace where Elisa could feel safe...
But somehow, Elisa always seemed to bring the good out of anybody she met. They were soon singing and playing on the streets where, if they were lucky, they could receive enough in donations and eat that day!
Dreams had always been a vivid part of Elisa's life and one in particular kept coming back to haunt her--to challenge exactly why she had left home and moved so far away. Maybe Elisa didn't really know. All she knew was that she had lost a part of herself and wondered just exactly who she was--and what should her future hold for her. Would Cade be a part of it? Would she have to give up and go back home to face, again, the gossip, the cruel actions of everybody there?
But this was not a sad story. It truly was an adventure for the two musicians who merged together to make beautiful music that pulled in all that heard them play. Even when others took advantage of their concern for others, they responded to try to help whenever possible. In turn, there were those who would help and offered jobs to play, for instance, at a wedding...
But could it last? Did it need to? If you're like me, I read The Golden Sky first. If you haven't, I recommend you read Homeless in Hawaii first...it is a perfect introduction of what was to come...
A Stranger's Smile "Tell me again. Why are you working as a security guard?" Katie asked on the other end of the cell phone. My dilapidated van creaked as I sped to work. It was nearly midnight and I didn't want to be late for my grave shift. "I've told you, something symbolic happened." "Symbolic?" When my sister is frustrated, she repeats everything I say. "Yeah. Remember how I've been studying bonsai trees? They only stay strong if they're fully grown when planted together—and," I quickly went on, "if two seedlings of different breeds are planted in the same container, as they grow one will choke-out the other." "And you're a bonsai tree," she said—in a monotone. "And you think you never grew on your own because you got married too young." "And I got choked out by the other bonsai!" As the van hugged one of the many tight corners leading to work, my headlights skimmed across the rain-covered blacktop. "And the bonsai tree has to do with your being a low-paid security guard because…?" "Because when the manager offered me the job, she had a bonsai tree on her desk." I could almost feel my sister's aggravation through the phone. "It was a sign." Silence, then, "Gina, you were offered a job paying twice as much downtown." "That manager didn't have a bonsai tree on her desk." "You've got to stop following these signs. Look at your life. Look what's happened to you. Sometimes you have to go where the pay is." She can be so feisty—I think she gets it from our Italian mother! I could have responded in turn—I'm a spitfire too—but instead let the words bounce off, just like the plinking rain on the pavement. "Well, I'm at the plant, and I'm working here for a reason. Who knows why, but maybe it's so I can grow into a bonsai tree that's strong all by myself. Thanks for staying up to talk with me."
A Stranger's Kindness is a light, enjoyable romance. I liked Gina, and couldn't help but think that she was a lot like Elisa--an optimist, a woman who was not afraid to reach for what she wanted...and to deal with the schmucks who came into her life that really weren't meant to be there!
Gina had been married and with a failed marriage, she had been looking for signs of how to find a life that would be wonderful... finding somebody who would be the dream of a man she always longed for...
I shoved the velvety couch with all my might. Then, after little reward I kept on pushing. After all, this was no ordinary house. This was no ordinary dream. What the couch had always concealed was far more than one would expect. There had always been, inches above the floor a gaping hole, spiraling down—not unlike Alice's rabbit hole just with jagged roots and mud—hiding all the terrible secrets of my life. The couch finally slid and I prepared to see the hole, but it wasn't there…not anymore. It had been patched up completely, and I fell into a sitting position in front of it, stunned. I wanted to go in there— there—feel the pain of remorse and the consequence of poor choices. Reliving my nightmares was the only thing that made me remember why I'd changed…. Why I'd become a single mom…. Why I'd gotten divorced…. And how The Schmuck had been a mere shadow of my previous husband…. I banged on the wall—hit as hard as I could, but the sheetrock wouldn't bust. My secret place—albeit disturbing—had simply been barricaded away forever. I sat, thinking that I could never go back to that terrible place. For some strange reason, I wondered how I would stay strong now that I must let go of the pain.
Gina had done it again...she had become involved, albeit not by choice, with a married man, who had lied to her... Now, as she was trying to break free from another fiasco of love gone wrong, he was stalking her... she had to get away from him...
Really, taking a job because the supervisor had a bonsai tree on her desk was not logical...but it was symbolic and Gina took the job as a security guard... And soon saw from the distance, the smile of a man, a handsome, kind man, who spoke to everybody and seemed to be liked by all those with whom he worked...
Now...how was she going to meet him??? Was he that star in the seemingly impossible dream that she was living in?
Take a chance...dream along with Gina...dreams really do come true some time...
And then there were children... LOL
Seriously, EC Stilson was soon writing a gem of an adventure for kids of all ages!
I always knew I was different. Every kid on Syron thinks that at some point or another, but I did more than wonder. It wasn’t just my exotic appearance, eyes larger than a normal human’s and lips that gave me the appearance of a fish. It wasn’t even the fact that my family lives in a castle—a haunted one. Or at least that’s what I heard people tell my father when we first moved in. It looks hundreds of years old, but no one knows how the castle got here on Senack’s coast. No one except the natives who lived in this area at the time it was built. The Land Registrar refused to demolish the place. He said that was "maliassuertius," or bad luck in the natives’ tongue. When my father offered to take it off his hands, the Registrar said my parents were mindstruck for wanting to live in a decrepit castle with haunted murals and halls. Groups of natives live here and there, but the whole planet is curious, just like my family. Something bad happened here, I can feel it in the barren land, and the natives won’t speak out. Once I tried asking one of them about Senack’s castle, but she screamed even before I could finish my question. Anyway, that was the day my father forbade me and my four siblings from talking to anyone without his permission. He said we’d teach ourselves, which bothered me since I wanted real answers to my questions. Our castle sits on the beach in a rocky section that’s jagged and bumpy. A huge, slimy tree stands forlornly by the front side of the house. My dad calls it the Diem tree and swears it’s something special—even for Syron. Its droopy branches give it the look of a hunchbacked old man, but I don’t see what’s special other than its shade. Knowing we’d never get visitors here might be why my parents liked it. We’d moved every few months before—always staying close to the ocean—but when my father pressed the issue and the Registrar agreed to give us this place, we finally settled down. The government would give us land in a better area farther inland, but my dad refused. He took the historic "artifact," and that was that.
"Syron’s a strange planet," my father and mother said. "You don’t know what types of things live in those waters. Stay away from the ocean. It isn’t safe." But the land didn’t seem especially safe either. All I wanted was to jump in the waves, to learn to swim in the water. I dreamed about it day and night. I fantasized that I was like one of the fish I’d seen in some of the castle’s murals. The fish looked both mystical and monstrous. If I were like them at least I’d fit in somewhere. I never wondered about the ocean until the day Indy went missing. She’s my youngest sister. I hate talking about the last day I saw her. The whole thing was my fault...
Aliya (such a lovely name, isn't it?) narrates the most extraordinary fantasy novel I've read... Its main characters are children and for many years, although they lived by the ocean, they were forbidden to go near it. Aliya was the one who was most affected when her younger sister was lost in the ocean. But, she had never told her parents the truth of what happened.. Her sister was stolen by a witch and she had gone willingly... While Aliya, left behind, was frozen in place, unable to do anything to stop the witch's actions. Aliya had always blamed herself, even though her father denied what she was saying...
Now, her older brother was packing... He was leaving... He had met somebody, a beautiful girl...and he was in love, ready to run off with her...
Only Aliya glimpsed the girl as she waited for him on a ship. Even though many years had passed since her sister had gone away, Aliya knew. The girl her brother was running away with was the same woman who had taken her sister years ago! How could she look the same after so many years? Aliya was to discover her name was Constance and she was indeed a witch. One who could become anybody or anything she wanted to be as she threatened the underwater world with her power.
With an imagination like no other, I visualized that Stilson had started this story as a bedtime tale, which, her children loved so much, that, it just kept going and going, a never-ending tale of three children who set out to find those who had left her family--the father, the brother and a small sister... While their mother sat at home rocking in the chair where she had once rocked her lost daughter... The children called her mindstruck... and, surely, unable to do anything to help...
In fact, I can recommend it for those who are old enough to understand fictional monsters and all things magical, yet scary... Even as the book ended, I wondered, will the journey continue? A fascinating tale of magical wonder where children can walk into water and immediately breathe there, ready to ride the ship that was created by a drawing by Aliya who now had the magical ability to draw something into life! But be careful, there are both those who will help and those who will try to harm those children... Will they find and be joined once again with their family?
