Four Candles on My Gratitude Day Cupcake

Ever since I learned the term, I've hated it: "cancerversary." I mean, who the hell wants to celebrate cancer? Who wants that rubbing up against celebratory anniversaries of love and growth? Not me. 

The bottom line is this: words matter.  If you pay close attention to my discussions and conversations around my disease, you might notice that I don't use the word "cancer" very often, and I don't use the word "tumor" (*shudder*), either. It's part and parcel of my own ongoing efforts to assert power over my life, my health, my body.  Personally, I also am not a big fan of the "warrior" mentality.  Don't get me wrong: there are days when nothing else will do, and fighting through a feeling, a complication, a recovery, a piece of disagreeable news is the only way for me to get from one end to the other. But I've never been a fan of war, and I find the concept of going to war against - let's face it - myself very hard to understand. And the idea that someday I might "lose the battle" to cancer? No. F*** that. Death comes for us all, after all.  If I die as a result of this disease, the last thing I would want would be for people to think of me as someone defined by how I died. If you died in a car wreck, would you want your obituary to read "she fought the good fight against automobiles for years but they caught up to her in the end"? (Hoping the answer is "No!" here!) It's absurd. 

But I digress. Back to cancerversaries. I needed a new way to conceptualize and reframe this annual event. It's a key day in my life (and in the lives of my family and loved ones) and one that pries open, as my post from last week made pretty clear, the canister of feelings that I'd really rather not get stuck in: remorse, grief, disappointment, self-pity. So I started to think about what this day really represents.  And then I read Sheryl Sandberg and Adam Grant's new book, Option B: Facing Adversity, Building Resilience, and Finding Joy. The book was helpful in many ways (I'll try to post a review and link it here), but there was one story in it that really struck me as I considered this upcoming day. Sandberg shared something from Malala Yousafzei, the Pakistani schoolgirl who survived being shot in the head by the PPT and has gone on to become a global force for education and girls' and women's rights. Malala said that on her birthdays now, her mom gives her cards that correspond to her life since the event that indelibly changed her, so she got a "Happy First Birthday!" card the first year and so on. Her mom says that her life began again in the wake of her near-death experience. If I did the same, today would be my fourth birthday. No wonder I'm still trying to figure out what all of the changes and challenges I've experienced mean! 

That thought stuck with me as I slept last night. And this morning, as I opened my eyes, it struck me: this is a day for gratitude.  (Obvious? Perhaps. But that's okay. Everyone learns in their own good time.) Gratitude for all that I have experienced and felt and enjoyed over the last four years. Gratitude for my body, which has continued to work unbelievably well despite chemo, surgeries, procedures, broken bones, side effects and medical errors. Gratitude for the outpouring of love and support I have received and continued to receive - so much so that, as I wrote almost four years ago, that it jolted me into a new understanding of universal connectedness. As a result of my diagnosis, I reached out with desperation and need to those I loved and cared about. I scratched the surface of the life I thought I led - and discovered that there was so much more magic, so much more spirituality, there than I had been able to see for a long, long time.  Gratitude that the sun still shines, that my children keep growing, that the world keeps turning - and I am here to see it all. I'm still here. And I am not just barely hanging on: I am robustly and deliberately HERE, and although I don't know what the future will bring, I know that I have the opportunity to continue to love and learn and share my own knowledge with people I love. What else could a girl want, really? 

Make a wish!

And so, I dub today my own personal 4th annual Gratitude Day. A day for admiring the fragile but enduring bonds of love and affection that connect us. A day for reveling in all I've been a part of these last four years. A day for consideration and an opportunity to rededicate myself to my healthiest version of me. A day to celebrate all of the people and places and ideas and innovations that have helped me get this far. All morning long, I've had a list in my head that keeps growing and growing, and everyone and everything on it makes me smile. Important milestones I've been here to experience. People I've met since my diagnosis. Books I've read that have changed and enlightened me. Love that I've shared. I thought about making a photo collage of some of these, but then I decided to be coy and not share all of my personal pictures (sorry! #notsorry). But I will share some of the friends I've made and milestones I've been here to witness, as long as you all realize that there is no way I could make any kind of comprehensive list.  Anyway. Here's a Sweet Sixteen list of people I wouldn't have met, things I wouldn't have done, and milestones I wouldn't have witnessed if I'd kicked the bucket (I have a way with words, I know) four years ago. In no particular order: 

1. The Keenan Family: Paula, Rob, Cady and Coben

2. The Newton Family: Sarah, Corey, and Abby

3. The Carmody Family: Kim, Rob, Mattie, and Mackenzie

4. The Stiles Family: Moyra, Travis, Gavin, Xander, and Justice

5. Eloise Bouchillon Brown

6. My son's first day of kindergarten

7. Pulling my son's first two teeth (and several more); pulling my daughter's last baby tooth

8. Four sets of birthdays for myself, my husband, my children, including my 40th, Nick's 40th, my daughter's 10th!

9. Steve and Nolan's Wedding (starring my children as ring bearer and flower girl)!

10. Visiting Disneyland, Miami, New Orleans, the lakehouse and more with my family

11. Four years of holidays (!!!!) complete with family gatherings and celebrations

12. Watching my children learn to swim and play lacrosse

13. Seeing my kids become book lovers, math whizzes, science fans; meeting and working with their their amazing teachers, especially Andrew Hossack, Pete Martinez, Angela Dire, Catherine Forington, Vicki Swift, and Ian Hodges

14. Our tenth wedding anniversary

15. Teaching the kids to ski

16. Deeper, more meaningful relationships (some that began only after I was diagnosed!) with so many people, including (but not limited to, obviously, in part because I would be repeating all of 1-5 again!) my husband; my children; my mom; my dad; Judy Sims; my brother, Josh, and sister-in-law, Karen; my Aunt Judie and cousin Kelly; my in-laws; the Nichols family; Lisa Walvoord; Deirdre Bell; Elizabeth Sapp; Kim Klimek; Jaclyn Wenaas; Anne Dean; Daniel and Leanne Weinshenker; Kristen Szeredy; and Craig and Melody Watson. 

To all of you I mentioned, and the many, many I did not (hello, medical team!), please know: my heart is full today with love and gratitude for each of you. My eyes are leaking happy tears because my personal cup runneth over...and over...and over...and over with the concern and affection that you have showed me and my family over the past four years. We literally would not be here today without your many, many kindnesses.

I'm looking forward to the year ahead and the opportunities to maximize my health, to make my voice heard, to love harder, to rest easier, and to accept the graces I've been given. And to sharing my experiences with all of you!