One Year Ago Today
One year ago, it was a snowy, blustery December day. Brian was getting ready to take the kids snow tubing because too much time in the house over Christmas break can cause folks to break out into the hives of cabin fever. But it was a day of waiting.
We were waiting for a phone call from the hospital. I had had a biopsy on the lump in my breast the day before and was told I would receive my test results within 24 hours. I was pensive, lost in my thoughts, shaped by the waiting. I thought it would be nothing, but a deep gnawing prepared me for the news that would shape the entire year. The phone call came while the snow tubers were still on the slopes. It was almost 24 hours to the minute. I stood in our dining room at our dining room table. I sat down as I heard the news. I stared out the window into the winter wonderland of white, cars and buses driving by. The house was quiet. I could hear my heart. I called Brian and he came home immediately. We sat together letting the shock of the news sink in enough to call our parents, loved ones, and others. I feel we began to link shields with these important people and armed for our fight against cancer.
In this past year, we embraced the terror and the beauty; the turbulent and the calm. We have been shaped by our waiting, by our battle, and by each new reality that changed with each new season of treatment.
We were enjoying times with family this week. After a wonderful Christmas celebration with the Schubring clan, we spent some quality time with the Hartzell side too. It was pure joy to be with Diane, Josh and Huyen and my folks. I was equally pensive this day as I was a year ago. I found myself staring out on a partially frozen Lake Stony and thanking God for the warm temperatures and lack of snow. I was somewhere else in my mind. “What are you looking at?” Asked Camila. “Nothing, I was just thinking. That’s all.” I answered. Hoping to not have to explain more because some of the words are still not formed, she replied, “I do that too when I’m thinking about something.” We exchanged smiles and I returned to reading my book.
Today has been a year. Brian is very cognizant of the time. For Christmas, Camila and Brian gave me a book of photos cataloging the steps we’d walked together in this year. There was a separate book of photos of just Camila and me. A flood of tears splashed all over her as I held her in my arms and tried to look at the photos through weepy eyes. She smiled and shook her head knowing that is just my M.O. and knowing that love seals our family. From blonde to bald to brunette as my mom said in her Christmas letter. So many scars, so much healing, so much love and strength. Our roots have grown deep as a family—and I never want us to sacrifice nor confuse depth for length.
So today has been a year. When babies turn one year old, some Americans give these little ones a cupcake or sugary mess to eat and play around in. Cake and frosting decorate the baby’s face and hair. They have no idea that they are supposed to make a wish or that the candle signifies a year. They only know that people are clapping and smiling. Americans also have a strange custom of saving some of their wedding cake to be eaten on their one-year anniversary, but who really wants to eat frostbit bites of stale cake? What do you do on your one-year anniversary of cancer coming into your life? This survivor is gonna hold the hands of the people she holds most dear and who knows, she just might bake an angel food cake. My husband assured me as held me close in the kitchen this morning. “Our new year starts today.” Brian said. I nodded in agreement. Sound the noisemakers, blow the horns and light the fireworks, for today, we begin anew, beyond, and with.
