10 years
There are times when everything seems to happen all at once. I blink my eyes and the world is suddenly very different than it was only a moment ago. It only takes one phone call, one whispered response, or one subtle gesture and nothing is the same. It strikes me as funny that I am only truly noticing this now. Maybe because all of the other times that my world has been knocked into orbit I could feel the impending strike.
It will never not knock the very breath out of my lungs to hear that one of my parents has cancer.
There's something odd about being utterly shocked by and intensely familiar with something. The odd clash of the "both/and" that always sends me into default to choose. I have to remind myself to sit still and let it fall over me. It is both and I am allowed to feel both.
There is a method of operation to this now. Rally the troops. Make plans. Share the responsibility. We get better with age, more prepared to fight, our feet more solid. The news is a reminder that we have been so lucky. I feel a flash flood of emotion that carries me back to my senior year of high school when I was alone. Alone with my incredibly ill mother and alone with all the responsibility and fear and guilt that I just wanted to be a kid. I still feel like that kid playing adult.
There's a difference though. The world does not shrink anymore. I don't exist in a pinpoint of darkness. There is still so much light, so much celebration and joy. The injustice and tragedy of the world never diminishes the brilliant and hopeful. This is how I measure the growth. In these moments that, in the past, would have ceased the celebration of life. My fear is useful now. It makes me slow down and notice.
When everything happens at once, everything becomes a lot clearer. My vision heightens and I see moments that exist beyond that single moment when everything changed. I see my niece, smiling at me from the back of my car. The exhilaration of surprising someone. Meeting a man who makes me smile. Jessi getting into college. Long conversations with my brother. Art journaling with the girls. Laughing in hip-hop class with Alyssa at the absurdity of that many squats. Taking the long way home. Gob hugging me for nearly 5 minutes straight. None of these things didn't occur just because things changed. There is an unpredictability and loss of power that accompanies cancer. It happens the moment the word is connected to somebody you love. The greatest thing I have learned? There is a way to get it back. It happens when you choose to notice, to pay attention to the tiny miracles that exist. Those moments that make your heart stutter. I choose to exist constantly on the verge of something good and true. Injustices and disappointments are only vehicles for more gratitude.
All this reflection and celebration of changing within because of that one little moment.
It will never not knock the very breath out of my lungs to hear that one of my parents has cancer.
There's something odd about being utterly shocked by and intensely familiar with something. The odd clash of the "both/and" that always sends me into default to choose. I have to remind myself to sit still and let it fall over me. It is both and I am allowed to feel both.
There is a method of operation to this now. Rally the troops. Make plans. Share the responsibility. We get better with age, more prepared to fight, our feet more solid. The news is a reminder that we have been so lucky. I feel a flash flood of emotion that carries me back to my senior year of high school when I was alone. Alone with my incredibly ill mother and alone with all the responsibility and fear and guilt that I just wanted to be a kid. I still feel like that kid playing adult.
There's a difference though. The world does not shrink anymore. I don't exist in a pinpoint of darkness. There is still so much light, so much celebration and joy. The injustice and tragedy of the world never diminishes the brilliant and hopeful. This is how I measure the growth. In these moments that, in the past, would have ceased the celebration of life. My fear is useful now. It makes me slow down and notice.
When everything happens at once, everything becomes a lot clearer. My vision heightens and I see moments that exist beyond that single moment when everything changed. I see my niece, smiling at me from the back of my car. The exhilaration of surprising someone. Meeting a man who makes me smile. Jessi getting into college. Long conversations with my brother. Art journaling with the girls. Laughing in hip-hop class with Alyssa at the absurdity of that many squats. Taking the long way home. Gob hugging me for nearly 5 minutes straight. None of these things didn't occur just because things changed. There is an unpredictability and loss of power that accompanies cancer. It happens the moment the word is connected to somebody you love. The greatest thing I have learned? There is a way to get it back. It happens when you choose to notice, to pay attention to the tiny miracles that exist. Those moments that make your heart stutter. I choose to exist constantly on the verge of something good and true. Injustices and disappointments are only vehicles for more gratitude.
All this reflection and celebration of changing within because of that one little moment.