I have trouble sometimes, in this year after cancer, living between two worlds:
Not one, and not yet the other.
The world of mommy-ing, happily bustling, learning, and growing, and
The world of the sick.
Most days I go with gusto, at full speed, loving every minute of it, but
Sometimes I hurt.
Most days we play and laugh and build and learn and run around with friends, and
Sometimes I ache.
Most days we’re busy from morning to night, and beyond, as I read and cuddle them to sleep, but
Sometimes I cry.
And as I move back to the world of the living with gusto, I am stopped only occasionally in my tracks
By friends who hurt.
By friends who ache.
By friends who cry.
And even by friends who have died.
Two years ago, I could not have imagined friendships like these, but now they are an indelible part of my life. They remind me how very precious life and love are, and how, when I am feeling most discouraged and unworthy, I still have something to offer. I have today. I can raise my children, I can do my research, and I can leave a presence, a legacy, behind, if only I choose to do so.
This pushes me to keep on, through difficulties and through the pain (yes, the @#$% pain is back, as my back ribs will NOT stay in place), and keep making just one more memory for my babies. Giving them one more hug. Helping them do “experiments,” and splashing in the kitchen sink. Doing one more interview for my research. Writing one more page. Whatever I can give them to remember me by, and whatever I can give the world of my meager talents.
In realizing that my life may be short, I now have the power to make it count.