Late last year, life handed my mom a cancer diagnosis and I basically disappeared from all things blogging. I should have been writing, but the story wasn’t mine to tell. My story was so intertwined with my mom’s that separating the two would have been impossible. As it always does, life moved on but cancer became the constant underlying theme of our days.
Cancer is initially paralyzing, but the further into the journey you get, the less scary it becomes (although the many unknowns are always present). There is an incredibly fine line between knowledge and ignorance. I had to learn to be content with not knowing, a lot. I’m a curious person by nature but I had to stop Googling all things medical because I learned that knowing too much sent me over the edge into a place from which I couldn't always quickly return. Cancer, like other big life events, shows you who your people are, that tribe you can always count on or call upon regardless of time, space or distance. Finding those people and holding on tightly helped sustain me throughout these past several months.
My mom handled her diagnosis and treatment with incredible grace and beauty, never complaining. She was extremely patient when things went wrong and determined to continue on when given the option to stop.
Thankfully, earlier this week, my mom finished her treatments. Monday evening a local park held an event where people could send wish lanterns into the sky, a lovely way to celebrate the end of a long chapter. We wrote private wishes on our respective lanterns and sent them upward, both silently wishing and hoping they come true.
One of my friends perfectly described the evening as “a beautiful capstone on one hell of a process.” Indeed it was.