I had a lot of plans for this evening. I was going to do a little bit of work to get ahead of things during a busy week at the office, and I was going to spend a couple of hours working on the rather mammoth room painting project I embarked upon last weekend.
But I am finding that I do not have the energy or drive to do any of that tonight. I am sitting here contemplating happiness and sadness. You see, a very dear colleague of mine passed away today. We were the same age. Indeed, we started working at our company within weeks of each other. I'm not really sure which one of us started there first, but for as long as I have been there, she has been there too. We spent the greater part of our lives working together, and we shared many stories of our triumphs and tribulations over the years. We both loved music and singing. We both adored our families. We both loved books and reading. We both loved the outdoors and the beauty of the natural world.
We also both shared a history of cancer. She and I talked often after our first brushes with cancer, me with breast cancer and her with melanoma. We both felt so fortunate to have made it through the fires and come out the other side. We held so much gratitude for all the wonderful people and experiences in our lives. And we both understood that life is fragile and that every day is a miracle.
When my cancer returned, she was among many who provided love and encouragement to me. She told me I was strong and that she was rooting for me. She smiled with me at each positive scan report, and we marveled at how far we have come with cancer treatment. And then about 18 months after my cancer returned, so did hers. It was my turn now to encourage her and to be certain that all the advancements in treatments would work for her too. Only, they didn't work for her, and each day became more difficult for her.
Last week, I received news that my scans show that everything is still stable, and that I have no progression. This is just what we want to see, of course, but it feels a hollow victory today. And while I frequently write about finding the light in every situation, I also know that light is only meaningful if darkness also exists. Happiness can not truly exist without having known sadness. And I am realizing that it is OK to experience the darkness and it is OK to sit in the dark with the sadness and to let the tears come.
Tonight I sit in the dark and cry, but I do so only because I am so very aware of the light that she was and the happiness she once brought to all her family and friends. Light and dark. Joy and sadness.They are all wrapped up together into this topsy-turvy experience we call life. And so I sorrowfully embrace the sadness tonight. And tomorrow morning I will witness again the miracle of the new day, and I will remember her laugh and her smile, and I know I will smile too.
