Marking an Anniversary in COVID Times . . . And Another Sister Share

Today marks a cancer anniversary for me.

And today I am angry at cancer. Just pretty much pissed off at the "C" word.

Not my own experience so much. It wasn't easy, but my scars are more physical than emotional today, 

exactly twelve years out from bilateral mastectomies. I am here, living fully. 

I am one of the fortunate ones.

So are my sisters Zita, Leonice, and Aileen. For now. 

That is the uncertainty and fear we all live with and can't entirely shake. 

Our sister Mary Jo used to be on this list. She's not anymore.

There's only one way off the list . . . 

I am angry that cancer continues on an insidious path of destruction. 

Just like that other "C" word of late--COVID-19.

The anger and fear subside as I am reminded of what really matters. 

This picture was taken on February 22 of this year. It was on a bulletin board at the nursing home

my mom resides in. Feels a little strange to read that sentiment now doesn't it? 

We were gathering to celebrate Mom's 89th birthday. My sister Aileen and her husband 

John were visiting from Alaska that week. 

A month later, Aileen was diagnosed with lymphoma just as COVID really gained ground and dug in for the long haul. Her treatment response was really good, and she still has maintenance treatments every two months. I appreciate her words below. They so aptly and pointedly capture these two "C" words that have dominated this less-than-magical year. 

A COVID Christmas -with a Nod to Cancer

“That sounds depressing” my friend commented when I mentioned this title. Yes and it’s also my reality. 

I could wrap it in bright paper, hang ornaments on it, sing carols for it and still it would be a 

COVID Christmas. And still I am living with cancer. There it is - right now I am living with cancer, 

not dying with it. I’ll take that.

I will also take that I feel much better than earlier this year and am truly grateful.

About the coronavirus- I have given up hope that I/we will awake and find it was a bad dream. 

What fragility, strength, courage, selfishness and dedication have been revealed as COVID shreds our usual existence. How many ordinary heroes there are among us.

So, in the dark Alaska winter, my reality is this: every day I watch and wait for “first light.” 

(coming of daylight) One of the gifts of my cancer was allowing myself to let go of draining work 

and focus on recovering. My mornings are leisurely now.

First light comes late now but come it does, 

sometimes only a thin gruel of daylight but enough to feed my spirit.

After welcoming first light, I turn my focus to “first life.” First life entails spotting movement and then birds at feeders -the first of the day. The first birds are usually chickadees, flitting and frolicking.

So, every day I embrace first light and first life in the midst of COVID, while living with cancer.

That’s not so depressing is it?

No, it is not. No, it is not.

Thank you for reminding me of the true sources of light and life Aileen.

Some within us, others far beyond our knowing.