Summer in the Mountains (Family Post)

Our July has been a beautiful patchwork of Denver and Granby (Granby is where we bought our mountain house back in May).  The kids are enjoying mountain life - hiking, bike riding, looking for bugs, cursing mosquitos - you know, the good stuff! They've even had a few days at YMCA camp - can you get more wholesome than that? In the three days that they've gone, they've tye-died, canoed, played mini-golf, gone swimming, made crafts...the list goes on and on. It's like a real, down to earth camp experience (not that I ever went to one of those camps - I just read a lot of books about them). They seem to be loving it! Meanwhile, Nick and I have actually been working up here in the mountains - me on the online course I'm teaching and prepping for fall, and Nick for his job. Our days of peace and quiet have been really nice. This afternoon, I realized that life today and yesterday (camp days) were sort of like life before we had kids. It was very disconcerting and, frankly, uncomfortable - even though I felt a little rush of excitement at first. But the thought of life without our babies? Unbelievable. Not even thinkable.

We bought this new place in the mountains, in part, because there were more services and opportunities for family fun. We're on the land of a family-oriented ski resort. There's a grocery store five minutes away, the Y is 15 minutes from here - on a huge spread of land, with day camp and sleepaway camp and horse stables and more - and plenty of other services are within a 15-20 minute drive (bowling, restaurants, movies, and so on). We haven't even spent a winter up here yet and we're already thrilled! But today...that little thought of life without them...it freaked me out. Because of course I couldn't help but think of life without me, all things considered.

I know. I know I shouldn't think like that. But part of me can't help it. I watch my beautiful baby boy ride by on his bike - and I'm so grateful that I'm here to see him on his two-wheeler for the first time! I see my gorgeous girl swinging with abandon at the Y playground before she catches our eye - and I'm so delighted that it reminds me of myself, her age, ready to touch the sky with my toes. I had a friend text me the other day - one of my oldest friends, and one of the nicest, most considerate and kind people you could hope to know - and she said, on a day when I was feeling particularly anxious, I hoped that you would be feeling better, since you've had a recent scan and a few weeks to recover from chemo. And she's right! I should be reveling in my recovery! (And I am - my acne/rash is finally FINALLY almost gone. My hair is starting to grow. I don't have to take three hour naps every day!) But as any cancer patient/survivor knows, this in-between time is the scariest time of all. I have no idea what's going on "in there." All I can do is try and eat healthy, exercise...and hope. But unlike chemo, there's nothing pro-active being done. There's no plan, no structure. I have weird aches and pains, and every single twinge freaks me the hell out. I stay up late thinking about how my side hurt this afternoon, or how I got winded climbing a little hill, or how I was really tired all day. Did it mean anything? Hell, I don't know. I have to move ahead as though it doesn't - but realistically speaking, we know that it's at least even odds that another lesion will pop up at the next scan. Can you imagine? I hope you can't.

All that aside, though, I AM reveling in summer. We've been swimming and to the movies and out on hikes. I've had hugs and kisses and wonderful words of love and encouragement galore from the people I love best. I feel pretty good, all things considered, and I love our new place up here in these astounding mountains. Every day really does feel like a gift.

I have a friend - his wife is a stage IV cancer survivor - who likes to quote someone (Fitzgerald?) who says that the real mark of intelligence is the ability to hold two opposite ideas in your mind at the same time. Well, I would just like the world to know that I feel smart enough. I'm ready to just be regular again. Is that ever going to happen? (I have no idea.)

Thanks for listening. This was a brain dump, I know. Sorry about that. 


Location: Granby Granby

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