All that is mine

It’s been quiet here since we got back from California. I’m not working right now, but I’m not that worried about it either. The truth is, I’m not that concerned about much of anything these days. I tend to be of the mindset that things will fall into place when the time is right.

I’m using the quiet of my days to plan and purge and pare my life down to the bare essentials. It’s my way of letting go — of all of it, really. The flotsam of my life. I am figuring out that moving forward for me, truly healing and recovering and separating from what I’ve been through, demands a certain amount of easement. I need less things to keep track of or take care of or hold on to. This week that has translated into something close to 12 bags for donation and more items set aside to be sold. I feel lighter, freer, less tied to the past.

I had an appointment with my oncologist Wednesday. The paradox of these appointments is that they are unsettling and yet somehow comforting, too. I don’t like to be reminded that my cancer might come back.  It isn’t the only thing we talk about, but still, when you are chatting with an oncologist, cancer is without a doubt the elephant in the room. I like the fact that his eyes mostly smile and that he is kind. I feel safe with him, even when I don’t like the things he is telling me, like the fact that my bloodwork indicates I need to go back on the Lupron shots for maybe six months to another year. It’s a minor thing, really. A stupid thing. But it’s one more drug that ties me to being a “patient” and I don’t want to be a patient anymore. I guess, truthfully,  most days, I’m not. Most days I am not living in the moment of what was. Most days I am looking forward, not back. But even that can get tricky.

I’ve been thinking a lot about how this moment is mine. Sometimes I see it all so clearly; but sometimes I don’t. I want to let go of what doesn’t matter, the feelings and fears that clutter my mind and my heart. The physical stuff too. As much as I’ve regained my strength and mobility, some things linger. Some things I think will never be like they were. So while I don’t think about cancer every day, it’s still somehow there in the shadows. I guess that’s inevitable. When an experience forever changes you, there’s no going back. And really, for me, so much of the change has been for the better. But some of it has left me feeling restless and unsure.

There are times when I wish I had a map, a guide of sorts. One that clearly outlines steps to take on specific days. But there are no maps like that, and life is too changeable, too organic for anything like that to hold. So I focus on today, and consider only the things I really need, the things I really want. Find a place to sell the wedding gifts that have never been used, a good home for little treasures that once mattered but now feel like an anchor around my neck. Every day is a do-over, a chance to embrace the changes that are good and let go of the things that hold me back. The day that sits before me is really all I have. To make it mine, I have to have faith. I have to believe that things will fall into place when the time is right. And if that means turning away from the elephant in the room, so be it.

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2 thoughts on “All that is mine

  1. These are such powerful ruminations and resonate with me, even as my own experiences and things grappled with are so different. Thank you for your gift in articulating the ineffable.

    Liked by 1 person

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