Today, I saw a reminder on Facebook that a friend of mine from high school was having a birthday today. Sadly, she is not here to celebrate that birthday. She passed away from metastatic breast cancer over a year ago. This sad memory came on the heels of some devastating news that another friend of mine from high school just passed away from metastatic breast cancer last week. While I hadn't been close to them since graduation, these were women I spent a lot of time with in my youth. They were not that different from me.
I also lost two members of my peer support group in the past few months. In the end, they had so much pain that they were ready to go, but it doesn't make it any easier.
All but one of these women were diagnosed after me. They had less time than I have had with their families. They suffered greater complications from the disease and corresponding treatment. And it doesn't seem remotely fair. I have moments of feeling guilty. How am I still here when so many others have not made it this far? And in my lowest moments, I have to admit that I wonder when the bubble might burst for me.
And so I find myself writing, because that is what I do when I feel a bit conflicted or out of sorts. I find that writing helps me to work through some of the painful feelings and to find a way to sit with them so that they don't feel quite so heavy on my heart. Sometimes, words, and the action of pulling them together, can be healing. It lets me put on paper and release from my head the things that are troubling. I think writing is also, in many ways, a sign of hope. It embraces the idea that I have something worth saying. And it leads to the hope that you'll find what I have to say worth reading.
It is not always easy to have the sword of damocles that is cancer dangling over your head. But hope is a muscle that gets stronger the more it is worked. And then it becomes something stronger than hope. It becomes a sense of well-being about myself and the world, despite observations to the contrary. It allows for me to be present with the way things are, but to look without fear at what may be down the road. I've learned we must let fear go if we want to make progress.
I mourn the loss of these amazing women who lost their lives too early. Their memory encourages me to cherish the present moment all the more, and to say yes to the future plans that are offered up. To say yes to vacation plans, to say yes to dinners with friends. I am grateful that vaccinations are going to make such things possible again. And I'm saying yes to this beautiful life and to the future. I know there are no guarantees, My scans next week will say what they say. But I will not be afraid about them.
