The concept of a bucket list carries significant weight. It is a topic that I have been hesitant to write about in deference to other cancer patients. The notion of having time to accomplish all the dreams and plans for the future can often feel like a carrot dangling just out of reach. In a previous blog post, I reflected on time-the luxury of it. While in the midst of cancer treatments the future can feel bleak or even non-existent. I recognized the privilege of sitting in a position where items on my bucket list can come to fruition.
I can still remember laying in the hospital bed when the doctors told me I had metastatic colon cancer. Alone in my room after receiving the diagnosis, I stared at the wall, thinking to myself, I am not done living. I not only wanted to see my son grow up, but also longed to experience more of our beautiful world. Up until that point, travel had been a great source of fulfillment for me. It took me to see famous painting around the world-how many people cry when they see the Manet painting that they studied in Art History? And that is setting aside my enjoyment of experiencing different cultures, foods, and walks of life. The travel restrictions imposed on my body by cancer and its associated treatments were one of the hardest aspects of my new normal to accept.
I have often said that I view all the hopes, goals, and dreams I had for the future as a bundle of helium balloons-much like the large balloon stand at a fair or circus. I quickly learned that I had to release all the balloons I was holding, hoping that maybe one day some would slowly make their way back to me. Fortunately, some have. I have been able to check new states off my list. Will I get to visit all 50 states as I once planned? Maybe not, but I have seen three that once seemed impossible to visit. I also had the chance to visit Greece, a place I had dreamed of visiting for 20 years. Most recently, I had the pleasure of watching the Rockettes perform at Radio City Music Hall and ice skating at Rockefeller Center under the big tree.
My son is now 8 years old. Not only have I been able to witness a large part of his childhood, but I have actively participate in it as well. He has developed a love for traveling; often asking when and where our next trip will be. We spend hours painting and drawing together. I never imagined that I would get the chance to paint again, but that balloon not only floated back to me-it brought with it another one, filled with the joy of sharing my love of art with my son. I feel such happiness when he asks to visit the art store or for me to draw with him. These are moments I do not take for granted.
To all the cancer patients out there (or anyone that has had to put aspects of their lives on hold), please know that your balloons can return to you. The dreams and plans they carry may not look exactly as you once imagined, but that altered version might be even better than what you previously envisioned. As this year comes to a close, my wish for you is that at least one of your balloons begins its journey back to you, bringing with it a sense of peace and hope for the future as you enter the new year.
The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams. ~Eleanor Roosevelt
The Artfelt Brush 