Calm Before the Storm

I suppose life is a bit like living on a tropical island. At some times, it's pure paradise, and suddenly, without warning, along comes a storm, ferocious and devastating. 

It's been about 3 months since the last storm ended. We've enjoyed 90 or so days of the tranquility that comes with no evidence of disease. We've spent our time trying to repair the damage, and enjoy the beautiful weather. But yesterday we got the news that Harper's cancer has reared it's ugly head again.  A storm is once again on the radar, barreling towards us, gaining strength.

We knew there was a good chance this would happen, but we laid in the hammocks and played in the sand, warily watching the sky, but hoping against hope it wouldn't come.  But apparently the last storm didn't blow itself out completely. It left remnant winds that have stirred and are back again.

We know it's coming, but we don't want to believe. Do we have the strength to endure it again? Will the wind and rain beat down stronger and more damaging than before? Will our shelter hold? How high will the storm surge rise?

Soon, we'll get the plan. Shortly we'll know better what we're up against. But until then, we sit, in apparent paradise, waiting, thinking, wondering, worrying. What will happen? When? How will it compare to what we've been through before? Will what we've built hold?

In many ways, the last time through we had the benefit of ignorance. We didn't know what was coming, but we were fresh, young, and strong. Now, we're more weathered and wise, and we have an idea of what to expect, and we're scared.  We're tired, not fully recovered, but it will come regardless.

So we sit on the beach, play in the sand, lay in the hammocks, and fixate, knowingly, on the clouds appearing in the distance. We enjoy the last few moments in paradise before the hurricane hits. The calm before the storm.