Friday, January 27, 2017

All the way there

I've been a bit of a mess this month.

We've dealt with our usual MRI appointments and follow ups (which were all NED, thank God), a lovely bout of lice (yes, you read that correctly) and the back-to-school-crazy-transition that rocks the lives of parents the world over.

It has been grey and rainy outside for a couple of weeks.
A new world leader took power, threatening peace.
People are protesting.
Hearts are angry.
So much negativity.

My instinct has been to retreat.
Into my house.
My family.
My thoughts.

I didn't realize how much I was holding inside until this week, when I finally had a good cry and was honest with my husband.

Truth is, I am struggling.
Not with worry.
Not with anxiety.
I think I am just sad.

The reminder posts on social media of the events that took place this time last year are very overwhelming. Full of emotion and fear, it's almost as if I am re-living it all now, a year later.

As my husband puts it, we went all the way there.
We didn't just think about our child having cancer, we actually heard real words from real people.
We are reminded every three months that it could come back.
We belong to a club of amazing people with the worst possible connection.

We went all the way there.
All the way.

As another cancer mom explained it to me, we aren't fearful of what COULD happen.
We re-live what DID happen.

And so as this month comes to a close I am doing something I haven't done in 10 odd years. I am going to donate blood.

To honour another childhood cancer warrior and his family.
A friend's mom gone 15 years.
All who battle this horrific beast.

I will lean into the sad.
Stand strong and rooted in my fierce desire for peace.
I will go all the way there.
And grow as a result.
<3




Monday, January 16, 2017

This race called life

Sometimes it takes a whole year to realize how far you've come.
The last twelve months began like a sprint, then politely dropped into a cross country race.

Slow and unwavering.
Eyes on the path.
Steady pace.

Able to speak, yet completely out of breath.
Capable of continuation, however yearning to quit.
Heart pumping, chest thumping.

I don't know alot about running, but I gather there are three ways to get through a race.

The first is to isolate.
Run alone.
Listen only to the voices in your head.
Ego, its name.
Risking its accuracy and truth.
Forever being your own cheerleader.

The second is to compare.
The runner ahead is faster than me, so obviously better than I am.
The runner behind me can't keep up, they must be in really awful shape.
I am doing better than some, worse than others.
Rank-ordering pain and therefore outcomes.

The third is to belong.
I am a runner in this race called life.
So too, are these companions on the journey.
We are all struggling for breath.
We have our great races, and our really difficult ones.
But we all suffer and celebrate, together.

Sometimes we choose to isolate. Exhaustion and depression are often the result.
Sometimes we choose to compare. Fear and anxiety are often the result.

But when we choose to belong, we hit the sweet spot.

Whether it is my daughter's cancer.
Your husband's unusual illness.
Her mother's death.
His traumatic childhood.

If we belong, we are strong.
Our hearts fill with love and we say,

Me too.
I understand.
Your pain is my pain.

And the divine presence above us shines light on our souls and says, thank you.
This was your lesson to learn.

<3 <3 <3