Happy, and Writing

Long ago, a few weeks over a year, I said that I couldn't write because I was too happy. Well. That is just silly, I've come to realize. I'm drunk with optimism, and writing poetry like never before. The happy poet who I atheized back then is alive and well, and living inside of me. Thank you, God.

My dad, in a funk a few months ago, whining about the crops or the broken down tractor, asked, "What was good about you getting cancer?" "So many things," I said. "I feel closer to God than I ever could have imagined, I feel grateful, blessed, happier, kinder." Since then, I've also confessed to my sister that, some days, I'm gripped by fear. But then it's gone, and I am electric, feverish about the future.

I have surgery Dec. 2. The good one. One year, and my cancerversary that I couldn't really ignore like I'd originally planned came and went without pomp and circumstance, thank God, again. I'm blessed, blessed, blessed to no end that I can go without a big to-do about being alive. Nothing is sweeter, and I can hardly say what that means, just that I know how it feels to believe I would die – and then I didn't, and so I feel like sort of witness to a miracle, which changes you, good and bad. But much more good than bad, and nothing is ever the same as it was before, and so it's a milestone that was never intended, but a milestone nonetheless. A life changer, a game changer. Dec. 2 is another milestone. The last hurrah in this bittersweet party that celebrates the things you never really wanted to or should have to, but that's so alight and beautiful in spite of what started it all. It's all so simple: celebration, hope, faith, life, life, life, and this little one that's so full and fresh with it.

NJ after her very first Ring Pop, a blue one, as you can see – compliments of her Papa.

How Many Miles Does It Take?

During the breast cancer walk, we asked why in God's name is this thing 60 long freakin torturous miles. What's up with that? Haven't we suffered enough? I mean, everyone here pretty much has suffered in one way or another, from breast cancer, of course. And now we have to walk 60 miles on top of that? Why not 40 miles? Why not 30? But now I get it, and maybe it should have been obvious from the start.

It's supposed to be a little torturous and hard and slightly misery-inducing, because that's how it feels to have cancer. This is as close as it gets to walking in the shoes of those who've had to take the walk unwillingly, a measure of the tedium, the dreariness, the struggle to take one more step, to wake up to another day of uncertainty – besides the knowing that you'll have a hard time just getting out of bed from muscles and joints sore from chemo drugs; stiff, tight skin from surgeries in inconvenient places; looking again at that strange body you're living in and trying to get down with. Wanting to get back into bed and forget about it. 

After Day One of the walk, it seemed preposterous that we'd go back the next day and do it all over again, and then again. But, like cancer too, there is grace in the struggle, humility, an abundance of love, gratitude and support. How many miles does it take to get you to that place? Fifty-nine just might not be enough.

Bless This Home Sweet Home

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Change Is in the Hair

Oops, I meant to say, change is in the air. So much has happened in the past month. All good things. So much to be thankful for, I'm afraid I don't know how to show my gratitude. How much can I pray? There's more to do. Something big is right around the corner, always. I can feel it. In the meantime, here's what's been goin' down:

1. I got my very first new hair haircut. Wheeeeeeeeeeeee. But still soo short...
2. I'm not eating meat anymore. For serious this time. No more dead stuff.
3. NJ is sleeping in her very own bed! – mostly. And me and Jon get to snuggle, like old times, if one of us doesn't fall asleep on the couch that is. It's pretty sweet, but we miss that little munchkin.
4. We got a sweet, awesome nanny. Her name is Katy, and NJ is in love. She brought her a princess coloring book with stickers on day one, and that sealed the deal.
5. I was crazy post-treatment anxious, like, what will happen now that I'm not getting a zap or a cutting out or a toxic-in-a-good-way drip? And I prayed for no more worry and fear, and guess what? It's gone. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
6. Went to see Dr. Huxtable (oncologist) for the first time since my "treatment plan" has ended, and got straight A's for once in my life.
5. And, we bought a new house. Plantin' roots, and wheat grass.

I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey-work of the stars.

–Whitman