The last time I sat down to write was right before the winter solstice. I had written a post about finding light in the darkness-but it never quite made it out into the world. November had been a hard month, and its weight quietly followed me into December. So, I chose to step back. I cocooned into my little family, letting everything else fall away.
We spent our days building puzzles, playing games, snuggling, and simply being together. It was a gentle, needed reminder of what it means to slow down-to be fully present in the moments that matter most.
Then the new year arrived, and with it, a positive blood test. For five years, the test had been negative-something I had slowly, almost unknowingly, begun to take for granted. In an instant, the familiar icy fear returned. The kind of fear only cancer brings. I felt numb and anxious simultaneously, suspended somewhere between disbelief and dread.
So, I paused. I paused the blog. The podcast. The house projects. Life, in many ways, just…paused. And I waited.
Yet another thing that cancer brings with it: waiting. Waiting for test results, for appointments to be scheduled, for insurance approval, for your name to be called in yet another waiting room. The waiting feels endless. I would like to say I have mastered it, but waiting is still one of the most difficult parts of my cancer journey.
To get through it, I buried myself in books. Partly to quiet the fear that was threatening to take over, and partly to savor the act of being able to read. Reading during chemotherapy was extremely difficult for me. My brain felt sluggish and had a hard time focusing on the storyline. So with each book I read, I tried to fully soak up the moment, knowing this joy was something I could lose again.
Fortunately, after a month of waiting, the follow-up test came back negative. I was relieved, but still questioning its accuracy. Was the first test of the year a false positive? Did the cancer try to come back and my body fought it off? Was there an error with one of the blood samples? The truth is, I do not know. Even now, with two negative blood tests and a clean set of scans, a quiet fear still lingers in the background-whispering that the cancer might be trying to return.
Alongside the fear, also sits gratitude. I know that I have been blessed with so much bonus time with my family. It has been nothing short of amazing to watch my son grow up. He is becoming a talented, kind, empathetic individual that I am beyond lucky to know. I learn something from him every day and he pushes me to be the best version of myself that I can be.
When we were sitting on the porch yesterday, he turned to me and said, “Mom, I love that you are still here.” I hate that he has to carry the idea of death at such a young age, but love that he knows not to take people or relationships for granted. An important remind for all of us.
Perhaps the butterfly is proof that you can go through a great deal of darkness yet still become something beautiful. ~Beau Taplin
The Artfelt Brush 