It's Time

I always feel a little lost this time of year.
I can't seem to choose between two very conflicting emotions.
I want to be happy and celebrate all that I have survived,
Yet I tend to be sad because I am still mourning the old me and her life.

I "look" like the old me, now that my hair is long again.
So I think, everyone assumes that I am "her".
I feel required to think and act and be the old me.
But, she is gone.
I have changed.
I am not her anymore.
Everything about me since "that" day has changed.
And so, four years later, I am still trying to figure out who the new me is.

I used to want this day to quietly slip by.
Don't think about it.
Don't re-live the phone calls.
Don't re-live hearing "the words".
Don't re-live the silence and fears inside my head.

Tuesday
June 17th
2014.
It is not a day I want to remember - any part of it.
But yet is has defined so much of who I am now.

Other cancer friends told me they've felt the same way.
You don't celebrate the day you were diagnosed.
Instead celebrate the day of surgery.
The day "it" was removed.
The day NED was declared - No evidence of disease.
For me that day is almost 6 months after the date I was diagnosed.
Not surprisingly, I struggle with that day, too.
The scary turn of events and the subsequent week I had to spend in the hospital.
My plan as I knew it and had accepted, was gone.

So as June 17th approaches
I am...
I don't know what I am.

I know that a lot of the time my conflicting emotions
are trying to peacefully coexist, but are worlds apart.
I get the feeling from others that I am
not allowed to be sad or dare I say it - depressed,
because I have "beat" cancer.
I feel required to be happy. All. The. Time.
Like I am not allowed to have a bad day.
I like this part of an article written by Judith Basya -

Because to survive breast cancer, the marketing gods will have us believe, is to thrive! Ever visit a breast-cancer website? More smiles than a dentist’s office. The women in colorful head wraps are smiling, their doctors are smiling, a young woman so beautiful she makes you want to go bald is smiling. And the survivors with their exciting new short haircuts, they grin, sun-washed faces like they've just returned from a wellness resort. There’s no fear of recurrence in their eyes, no hint of any long-term issues or complications. This airbrushed reality is held over the rest of us, setting us up to sound bitter or lazy if we aren’t 100% happy as soon as we’ve “beat” the disease (and what does that mean, exactly?).

I also really love this part of a story (you can read the whole thing here - and you should because her story is amazing) written by my cousin after she almost died in a tragic accident at a family created water park.  And while she is not necessarily referring to cancer - I feel much the same.

My body is now covered in stitches and scars.
But there is no therapy for putting your old life together again.

“So are you all healed now?” Well-meaning family and friends ask me.

What does being healed even mean?

Does being healed mean dealing with pain every day? 
Does it mean replaying what happened over and over?
Will the world be able to look past my scars and love me anyway?

It is late at night. 
I pull the blinds aside and stare out into the dark night waiting for the pain in my legs to subside. 
The girl I used to be would be curled up under piles of blankets, sleeping. 
In the morning she would jump out of bed, humming along with her music as she combed her hair. 
That girl would run downstairs, gulp in a quick breakfast and head outdoors. 
That girl had a reckless spirit, a thirst for life, and a yearning to be more. 
That girl was a dreamer, and a romantic.

That girl was naive.

I’m not that girl anymore. 
The truth is, that girl died the moment she jumped off the tower. I rose up in her place. I know too much to ever be her again. That other girl could never know the quiet strength that comes from suffering, the determination to never quit. She didn’t know that the brokenness would shape her into a better person or that scars could be beautiful. That girl didn’t know she would die so that I could live. So that I could be the me I always was. The me I always wanted to be.

It is time.
Time to recognize both dates.
Because each day in its own right deserves to be celebrated.
Instead of hoping for this nightmare to end,
I want to celebrate!
Celebrate and no longer attempt to forget.
Celebrate because since that day,
That moment,
I decided to survive.
Decided to fight,
Fight for my family.

I AM A FOUR YEAR CANCER SURVIVOR!