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...
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