Edward and I made an offer on our (hopefully) first home tonight.
Milestones like this are equally thrilling and terrifying. So much can go wrong when hundreds of thousands of dollars are involved. I mean, how often does a person go bankrupt? I’ve never read up on those statistics and probably shouldn’t start tonight.
Juxtaposing joy and grief, my mind remembers that the sweet husband and wife kissing goodbye outside the chemo suite were once newlyweds with exciting milestones stretching out before them. Before I spiral into sadness on their behalf, I shift my thoughts to dwell on the love that continues to radiate between them.
Her hand resting comfortably on his knee during our visit.
His smile as she asks a question he hadn’t thought of.
Their mutual tears as we discuss prognosis.
Her notepad packed with details to share with family members.
His reassuring smile as he fills in for her deteriorating memory.
Their hands holding tightly to each-other as they walk down the clinic hallway.
And I know they do not regret the life they lived, and continue to live, together.
We rarely expect it to be us, but if we did — if we planned to be the ones diagnosed with cancer — would we live our early years any differently?
Tonight, the fear of that possibility begins intruding my present life, threatening to rob it of joy. And I consciously choose to push back.
We cannot let fear keep us from living the life in front of us, enjoying the life in front of us.
This applies to every stage of life, even amidst a diagnosis of cancer. There will always be a future to fear. It is okay to release your grip on the unknowns and embrace the enjoyment of your present life.
Thank you for being here,
