The eulogy of Murphy

Murphy was a raised round mole smack in the middle of my nose. I've had it since my earliest memory. The memories and perspectives evolve so much over the years, I feel like five people had this mole. As a very small child I fixated on it and felt very self conscious. I would look at baby pictures trying to discern when it first appeared. One time before visiting a new church which petrified me I scraped it off my nose before we got there. It wouldn't stop bleeding and made the whole experience much worse. My whole family just kept asking me what I had been thinking. I shrugged, rubbed blood smears into the skin on my hand and secretly hoped the skin would grow back light. It didn't and the bump was bigger. Small children and old people always asked seemingly stupid questions about it which annoyed me. The two filterless generations in every society and every age. I don't know why I expected everyone to have a filter and let me say whatever I wanted but I did. It also made me think of a witch. Witches always had big warts and moles.

I would say that it was hard to be the little sister with a specter of a mole to one who was often referred to as a China doll but it wasn't. I got plenty of attention and love without her flawless features. My hair was limp with a cowlick on the crown, my gums were big, my teeth were crooked and yellow (my choice!) and I had the mole. Everyone is something as a child. Maybe a sweetheart, maybe a troublemaker, drama queen, tomboy, narcissist, bossy boss, mouse, I was just a character. Always thinking of ways to define myself as unique like wearing an Indian dress and riding my horses bareback, dressing like a boy, swaggering around saying the most audacious things I could think of and who knows what else. My insecurities were covered in bravado and the world lapped it up laughing at all of my tough antics. 

The only nice thing I ever remember being said about Murphy was by a wild woman who raised bantam chickens. She told me it was an angel kiss quite fiercely and that I should feel very special to have so much attention from God and his angels. She also licked my nail polish when I smudged it one time and completely freaked me out. Odd lady but cool.

I entered my teens and began applying tons of makeup to my mole making it as light as possible and always cursing the bump, the greasy makeup and the whole Morticia look it created. I talked about having it removed but always envisioned a crater or a huge scar. My mom would roll her eyes and argue telling me I was making a mountain out of a MOLE-hill but I knew they didn't have money to spend on my vanity so I clung to my fears and never pursued it.

One day we stopped at a family friend, Joyce Havners garage sale. She was a nurse and took one look at me and told mom to go get that off before it turned cancerous. That pronouncement lodged in my brain for the rest of Murphys life.

After I got married, I didn't care much anymore. I mentioned it from time to time but still didn't want to risk a big scar and a big expense. As a small child, Eden was horrified that I would consider removing it, later she started bringing it up on her own telling me I should get it cut off. I cared less and less. Then Jody got cancer. I'd look at it in the mirror and wrinkle up my nose and ask myself if it was growing. I'd wrap my fingertips around it and try to decide if it was bigger. One day I scraped a black flake off of it. I worried but it never came back.  One day, I took my girl to a dermatologist for a rash and sat staring at pictures of cancerous moles on a poster. My skin crawled. The Dr walked in and stared at my mole in horror through coke bottle glasses which magnified her eyes to huge pale orbs. She asked me in horrified tones what was on my nose, had I ever had it biopsied... I went home in panic. Completely overwrought. I applied birch bark tincture several times per day. Worried sick, I had at least two more panic attacks and still I didn't call a doctor. Sometimes I cried.

Then my Dad got sick... and sicker and then we got the super bad C news. After the funeral, I went to the doctor. I asked for a referral to a dermatologist and went immediately. She pulled out her little magnifying glass thingy and told me it didn't have signs of cancer but... I really should have it taken off. I agreed and took her referral for a plastic surgeon. A year later, no surprise I still had the mole.

 In conversation with a neighbor one day, she casually told me they were flying out of state so her husband could donate a kidney. I was completely mind boggled and found myself telling everyone I knew because I was so amazed. Talking to Jenny one day I told her about it and said shoot, I don't even have the courage to get this stupid mole off. Then I went on to tell her that when Jess did our family pictures you couldn't see Murphy and all I could think was how nice I looked without that dang mole. Somehow it all irked me. I had worried, stewed and talked about that damn Murphy for almost 35 years. I picked up my phone and looked up the plastic surgeon and booked it. Wednesday, I sat on the table clenching my hands. The plastic surgeon said my fears were very unusual and must be rooted in some childhood trauma. I thought I was doing pretty well but she became very alarmed at my distress during the procedure and disagreed with my self assessment quite heartily. I could hear the speculation in her voice as she puzzled over my semi frantic state. She really lightened my mood when she announced that Murphy was gone though. I chuckled and said "you name them?" She laughed and said it usually helps kids. Nice of her to put on the kid gloves with me. Who knows why, but doctors, procedures, surgeries and even taking my kids in for vaccines gives me the cold sweats. It's weird and really deflating to a girl who used to be a bold little character. Oh well, all this to say, Murphy is gone. Being biopsied in some lab then thrown away and never missed. I wish I'd let him go before we made so many memories together, but I'd rather look forward than back. I crossed something off my bucket list that has plagued me my whole life. Now I look awful. Puffy nose, five stitches, everyone stares and I don't care a bit. Is there anything you've put off for way too long? 2015 is the year of doing everything I feel incompetent or fearful of and every time I do, it's not as bad as I thought it would be. Satan will use whatever he can find in a life to hold people back from a full life, even a stupid little mole.