two years

Last weekend I went for a walk by myself.  It was bitter cold and I just did the north loop around our property.  I followed Andy's (and Elsa's) ski tracks from earlier in the day.  His stride strong and sure, hers still wobbly, but determined. 

My walk was an awareness, a recognition, of the two years that have passed since Andy's cancer diagnosis.   Scenes still easily pass through my mind of that moment after surgery when the doctor in the consult room told me it was cancer.  My pulse electrifies and my heart dives into mournful memory. 

I focus back on the tracks stretching out like a trail of hope. My mind lights on the beauty as I follow my loves back home.  I make room for it all.  Sadness and fear, beauty and light.  This moment right here, right now.  A gift.

This week and next we'll joyfully celebrate the holidays with family and friends.  After that we face another scan, which we will try to walk toward bravely, knowing how much love is in our hearts.

When I look back to last year I know all we are learning continues to fuel our lives with compassion and understanding and for this I am thankful.

"Life can survive the constant shadow of illness, even rise to moments of rampant joy, but the shadow remains, and one has to make space for it."  Diane Ackerman