Five years cancer free. Today.
It went uncelebrated by everyone but me.
The date December 12 is not etched in anyone’s mind but mine. I actually think this year I might have forgotten it if it hadn’t been for the chocolate advent calendar that we are doing every day in December. I stopped when I came to the 12th pop out and thought to myself, “what’s on the 12th?”
The 12th is the day I got the email from my doctor saying that it's time to plan my cancer free party. I remember what I was wearing (Christmas onesie from my greatest friend on the east coast); I remember what blanket I had wrapped around my shoulders (my cozy Hallmark blanket from a friend who was one of the highlights of that period of my life); I remember what tv show I was watching (Jane the Virgin, don’t judge, I was binging just about everything on Netflix when I was recovering).
Today, I celebrated alone, staring at the weird blue lights on our Christmas Tree, with just a few quiet thoughts in the very few minutes of quiet I had. Maybe there were a few moments of grateful tears.
People are busy. So what?! No one remembered! Maybe it’s because my cancer journey did not include chemotherapy. Maybe it’s because I didn’t lose my hair. Maybe my journey wasn’t big enough or long enough or hard enough.
But it was still cancer. And cancer does this thing to your psyche, no matter how hard your journey was. It creeps in and stays there, whispering, “Am I done with you? Will you see me again?”
And the people I have met since my cancer journey, most don’t even know I had cancer. So why would they remember?
Maybe it’s best that no one remembered. Maybe it means it is a distant memory in people’s lives. Maybe one day it will be a distant memory in my life.
It has never felt truer than this day: my journey was just a lump in the road.
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