Early Spring greetings

I haven’t written in a while. Not that I haven’t thought about it; I have. But that’s about as far as it went. So greetings to you, Keyboard! And salutations to you, Microsoft Word! Hello again to the idea of writing. How nice of you to stop by! Please make yourself comfortable as we head out on our journey together this year…

It now almost seems a distant memory but it was in the clear, cold winter days that I marked the first anniversary of the completion of treatment. Tuesday January 14th marked the conclusion of radiation treatments last year. It was the final blast to any remaining cancer cells were there any bold enough to stick around through the onslaught of chemo and surgery and, frankly, they’d have to be pretty cheeky to stick around through all that. It was the culmination of what I termed the ‘active portion’ of the treatments and a major milestone.

I thought it would be joyful passing the year mark without recurrence. And, while there was some joy, there was also a great release of grief. I hadn’t anticipated the anniversary being such an emotional time. I wept for almost a week leading up to it and I wept just about everywhere: at work, in the car, at home, with friends and with coworkers. I wept publicly and more than that I wept alone which, for a Leo with a Theater Arts degree, almost never happens.

While I was unaccustomed to all the weeping I didn’t hide it. I said to those around me and to myself in turn ‘This is just how I’m feeling now’ and I let the tears of exhaustion and change, mourning and joy come out. It was just where I was for the time. I didn’t know how long that time would be and it didn’t matter. It was temporary.

Much like snow drifts in gullies carved and shaped by the winter winds my life has been and continues to be changed by the elements. While that can be very positive it can also be, as it was at that time, very overwhelming. In literature about life after cancer treatment it says that this kind of grief is common and that anniversary dates can be a trigger for this wave of emotions. It was comforting to find out that what I was feeling is common.

During that week of weeping leading up to the anniversary a dear friend said to me ‘Why not let it out? You’ve had quite a year.’ And that was true. I had had quite a year, indeed. A year. One year. More. One more year.

Oh and now Spring, that great harbinger of hope, is teasing with glimpses of the warmth and green to come! The spring rains have arrived with some areas here receiving an abundance of precipitation. There’s a smell with softer rains that is fresh and inviting. I’ve always thought this was Nature’s way of cleaning things up after winter, getting ready for the bright blooms and fragrant friends that make those first brave moves into an unknown world.

Now I’m not a horticulturist (though I’ve often thought I could play on one TV) but I have noticed that those first few flowers up out of the ground are really quite tender. Hyacinth, daffodil, tulips and crocuses all have soft green stems. It’s interesting to me that these first-out-of-the-gate flowers should be so delicate.

They appear in this world with confidence and grace. And they expend all that energy to bloom without knowing what to really expect: it’s been warm enough for them to start growing underground but what life on the surface will hold for them is uncertain. It could be warm and sunny or just as easily it could be so cold and snowy that they would’ve preferred their travel agent to book their arrival in Boca. They have no control over what the weather will be and yet they come with hope in the great goodness of the earth to provide what they need.

I am learning to live with uncertainty myself and for this gal who likes to plan that offers some challenges. It's about letting go and trusting, which is easier said than done sometimes. And yet I find that when I accept and embrace the uncertainty of life there is a calm that comes with it. It will be sunny and warm or it will be cold and snowy; either way I know I will be well. So just as the spring flowers do, I’m heading into this world of unknowns on my own journey of trust and of hope.

Speaking of hope, I hope you’ll join me in the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure on Sunday May 10th at the Mall of America. It’s quite an event and the number of participants is stunning. There are a plethora of choices for participation: the run, the walk or the slumber. Darn but that last one is appealing to me... but I will be there for the walk.

For you early birds who want to miss the crowds the 5K run begins on Sunday May 10th at 7:30am (seriously, who picks these times?!). The 5K outside walk begins at 9am and the 1K inside walk begins at 9:30am. The Sleep In for the Cure begins and ends at your leisure and will go on, as the other races do, rain or shine.

If you are interested in being there, let me know and we’ll make a plan for the day. You can sign up for the event on their website www.komenminnesota.org.

With peace and hope,
Karen