“Life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass…It’s about learning to dance in the rain.”
— Vivian Greene
Stormy Wildwood Beach
I don’t know why I’m finding this so hard to write. Last year I bared my soul to you, last year I shared every gory detail of every procedure and here I am unable to write today’s post. I’ve been thinking about what I want to say for days now and I am coming up dry.
I know I want to tell you…
- Today is 1 year since my (please God) last radiation treatment.
- I had a moment on Monday on Wildwood’s boardwalk that reminded me that it really is about learning to dance in the rain.
- I am in the middle of my 2 quarterly MRIs.
- I am scared.
I said to you on December 31, 2011, “We are all still here, we are all still standing, and 2012 brings with it the promise of hope.”
it's about learning to dance in the rain
(totally clunky segue) You’ll have to forgive me, I’m all over the place today. I’m struggling with how to tell you that I was furiously happy and completely in the moment Monday as we stood on the seawall and listened and watched and felt as a thunderstorm passed from one end of the island (Wildwood) to the other. I’m struggling with how to tell you that I had an aha moment while huddled under an awning on the boardwalk waiting for the storm to pass. And I am struggling with how to tell you that I am scared. I want to tell you that I am 1 year cancer-free, but I won’t know the results of the 2 MRIs until July 6 when I see the neurosurgeon and oncologist.
I’m finally putting the pieces of my life back together. I am out and seeing friends, I’m taking photos and reasserting my independence. I am writing a freelance story for my former editor and I’m volunteering to be part of something that I believe helps people. I meditate on wholeness and healing. I am working to put Humpty Dumpty back together again but I’m not quite sure where all the pieces fit now.
Where do audacious, smart, and independent fit?
Where do anxious, terrified, and afraid go?
Can I dance in the rain while I’m terrified?
I don’t know, so I suppose for today I’ll just say that it is all about learning to dance in the rain.
standing on the seawall in my gone fishin' hat
Love & Pink Rubber Galoshes,
~ Carol Anne
One day at a time, in your own way my friend. (hugs)
(((hugs)))
sometimes, the best we can do is put one foot in front of the other and hope we are making the best choices we can for this moment. We do the best we can with what we have to work with, and sometimes what we have to work with looks like it doesn’t fit together. (((hugs))), my friend. Let’s dance in the rain together!
*grabs hand* *dances*
Dear God,
Please look down upon my friend and give her the joy of knowing she is indeed healing as she so wants to be. She has been through so much this past year and she needs to hear good words today. Help her today and always and give her the happiness she so deserves.
Hugs
AnnMarie
Thank you AnneMarie.
((hugs)). This place we’re in can be wonderful (in the I’m still here kind of way) but terrifying (in the will the cancer come back kind of way). I hope that somehow, you can put all the pieces back together in a way that allows you to move forward while still being able to acknowledge all the feelings going on inside you.
And when you figure out how to do that? Can you please fill me in on the secret? xoxo
We should start our own support group.