1.2.2020 KNEW

And like that, 9 years later and 1 year after stopping chemo. I am still getting better. I am still fighting cancer. I'm not fighting cancer on the scan or from the blood draw. I am fighting the cancer that was. The cancer that stole years of motherhood and dreams.
I had dreams once of a degree, of writing a book (and getting it published). I had dreams of the big city, dreams of traveling. Dreams of becoming someone, dreams of making a difference. I KNEW it was going to happen. I KNEW I was going to make it out of the village and do something big with my life. And as the years crept by it didn't bother me, I still had time and I loved the life carefully carved out for me. Then the diagnosis. I refused to let it get to me. I refused to let it steal my life, I refused to let it steal even one moment of time. I lived, I breathed in and out 15 minutes at a time. I REFUSED to look at life passing by. I HAD to make it through, ONE more day. I KNEW I was going to live. And I did day by day, moment by moment. One day I woke up and realized I wasn't sick anymore. I realized I didn't have to fight the blackness in my body. So I got out of bed. I physically got out of bed and decided not to let the images force me down. I started to live this life again. I started to live the life of laundry and dishes, carpooling and laughter. I started to live the life of Church and LOVE. I started to live the life of running and... life. A few years passed and I found myself back at work. I decided it was time for MY comeback. I was going to be someone. I was going to share my story and I was going to travel and inspire others. Cancer was going to PAY for what it had done to me physically. And in a moment, in a flash and yet over time, like a slow, slow growth I began to look inward. My brain. Thoughts encapsulated me... What was I thinking, how was I ever going to live like this, not with physical cancer but mental cancer. The reminding thoughts of where I had just been and what I had lost. I was still taking chemotherapy drugs every 3 weeks and it was wearing me down, mentally. I had to stop working. The cancer was gone from my body only memories remained in my head and every three weeks the reminder came around. So I fought on, this time mentally. And I realize I had to stop the chemo. I KNEW I was healed, now it was time to walk it out. I found myself in counseling with a therapist I trusted and I found my way back into Celebrate Recovery. See, I still had hurts, habits and hang-ups and I needed to release. As the layers came off, I saw. I saw that cancer had stolen my motherhood. I missed years of my kids growing up and I missed loads of laundry and dishes and carpooling. I missed working and advancing into becoming someone. And here tonight, I cry for what was stolen and like all woman at some point in our lives we look up and see our kids growing, making their own mistakes. I have cancer to blame. Most times I have chosen to be thankful for this journey, but tonight I am angry. I am angry at cancer and what it stole. I am coming to terms that I may never get published or get that degree. I am coming to terms that I have thousands of loads of laundry left to do and dishes clean tonight will be dirty tomorrow. I come to terms that I missed basketball games and poetry readings. I come to terms the missed opportunities to save a dollar, hug a neck, catch a tear. Maybe, maybe I can think of it though as that which I lost for a moment I can have for many, many, many years to come. But like I said tonight I cry for those moments lost.
I remember as a child I would play with leaves and put them in water and watch as they floated away. I wondered where they would go and if they would catch their dreams. Tonight those moments lost are like those leaves I let go. Watching as they float and HOPING for the best... KNOWING there has to be hope in all of this...
Love you, love me, love you, love me...

8.13.19 Cards in the Top Drawer

I have this drawer in a nightstand. Cluttered with chargers for various electronics, a lightbulb for "mom's lamp", favorite books and devotionals, pens and journals, batteries. A typical mom drawer. but tucked away are letters and cards. These letters and cards don't belong in the box of birthday cards in storage. These cards are the special ones. I have to keep them close. They are little reminders of love. A valentine's card from Bill, a few letters from a penpal in Fairbanks, and 16th Birthday card for my daughter. They all say love. There is a note in tucked away with a prayer that I would be blessed and have comfort in knowing how strong and powerful I am.
It has been years since my diagnosis and just recently (the last 10 months or so) I have found myself on a journey of letting go of my diagnosis. See, cancer didn't end for me the moment my doctor's said "No evidence of disease". It didn't end with the last round of chemotherapy. Cancer didn't end when I started running or went back to work, or even when I wished it and willed it. It's not even that I am afraid it will come back. It won't. I'm not afraid of that. I don't EVER want to live my life in that kind of fear. I want to LIVE, I want to LOVE, unbashedly and unashamed. So I am finding in order to get there, it's not just about living unafraid of cancer, it's about living unafraid of who I am, NOW. Who I am without cancer, without being a survivor. I will always be a survivior, but I don't have to LIVE like one. I can live, I can breathe and walk and run. I can carpool and do laundry. I can LOVE by finding a charger or a lightbulb. I can love by sharing my devotion and by writing my story here. And, I can love myself  and believe the words written and tucked away in this heart... Love you, love me, love you, love me.