Sunrise over the Tahoe basin enshrouded in fog. Taken from the lookout on Mt. Rose Highway.

It’s not a profound observation, but one that often escapes me.  When we are in the fog, we forget what lies above it.

I haven’t been able to be a full participant in OS for the past couple of months due to pressing commitments in my life. I have only been able to read and comment infrequently and have missed all my OS friends. And so, I sat down this morning to ask for your support. I wanted to ask for your encouragement as I deal with two of my main phobias this week: Extensive dental work and a long flight, both of which have me beside myself with anxiety. I am so full of shame that fears like this overcome me and invade my every waking moment. I fight them, I take medication, I force myself to go through the situations that spawn these fears; but they control me, nonetheless.  How weak and pitiful I feel. How self centered I am.

For the past few days, I’ve been searching for an “angle” to write about my angst. No one really wants to read one more needy post about highly personal issues, I thought to myself.  But, then I realized, after poking around a bit this morning, that it’s Karen’s birthday. And that Karen, likewise, hasn’t been around OS for a while. But her reasons are far more serious and dire than mine. Catching up, I piece together the awful fact that Karen has cancer and has been dealing with radiation and chemo. With chagrin, I recognize that the events in her life dwarf my puny problems.

I don’t know Karen well, but we had a few private conversations about adoption after I wrote my piece about my newest grandchild and the adoption issues surrounding that event:   Never Enough Love . Karen was writing a new book and asked if I would mind sharing a bit about my adoption experiences. I told her that I would be delighted to, but never heard from her again. Now, I’m painfully aware why.

And so, unintended, Karen has given ME a couple of gifts on her birthday: The gift of the learning to appreciate the blessings in my life and the gift of rising above my own miserable miasma. For above that self-induced fog, there’s a glorious sunrise. I hope it’s heralding the coming joy for Karen when the cancer is beaten and life is hopeful again.

Happy birthday, Karen. May you have many, many more.