Therese (Mom)

Every once in a while, something from the past finds its way back to us at exactly the right time.

Recently, I came across a blog I wrote twelve years ago while I was going through breast cancer treatment. I had almost forgotten about some of these old posts, and reading this one felt like sitting across from a younger version of myself.

I remember her, of course. But I don’t think I fully remembered what it felt like to be her.

She was tired. She was scared. She was trying to stay positive while knowing another infusion was waiting for her the next morning. She didn’t want to think too much about what was happening because sometimes pretending it wasn’t happening was the only way she could get through the day.

And yet, she still ended her blog by thanking God for another day.

Reading her words now makes me emotional because I know something she didn’t know.

She makes it.

Not just through the next infusion. Not just through the next five months. She makes it through the next twelve years.

I decided not to rewrite or clean up this old post. I don’t want to correct the grammar, change the wording or make it sound like the woman I am today. These were my words in that moment, and they deserve to remain exactly as I wrote them.

From My Blog — Tuesday, October 7, 2014

The Glass is Almost Half Empty

It’s been awhile since my last blog but I guess a part of me doesn’t want to think about what I’m going through on my recovery time. I like to clear my mind of everything that I am going through and pretend it doesn’t exit. Unfortunately, writing a blog reminds me of what has previously transpired and what is to come. I understand it is a tool to keep others informed and I guess if it helps others understand what I am going through, that’s what matters.

I have to be honest…the only thing that inspired me to write today’s blog was my nephew Nathaniel. I saw the news segment on his journey and was completely moved by his determination. It literally brings tears to my eyes to see him on his journey and I know that if he can walk clear across the U.S., I can certainly get through the next 5 months. If you haven’t had a chance to read his blogs, please do so at natewalks.com. He will inspire and amaze you.

Tomorrow will mark infusion #3 and in this case, having the glass half empty is a great thing. I already have a bit of anxiety regarding tomorrow. I’m sick of having poison injected into my body. As the sessions progress, I find myself losing more and more energy. It’s getting harder to bounce back and the emotional roller coaster that my hormones have been on is ridiculous.

In spite of it all, I will remain optimistic. The outpouring of support has been tremendous and has made my journey more tolerable. I hesitate in mentioning anyone by name because I don’t want to leave anyone out but you all know who you are. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Until next time…Thank you God for giving me another day (one day at a time). I am truly blessed. 🙂

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A Little Update About Nathaniel

And in case anyone reading this is wondering what happened with my nephew Nathaniel and that incredible journey I mentioned all those years ago—he made it.

Nathaniel walked all the way from Fontana, California, to Washington, D.C. to bring awareness to the struggles of homeless veterans and the lack of support available to them.

Reading my old words about him makes me smile because his determination was exactly what I needed at that moment in my life. I remember thinking that if he could keep putting one foot in front of the other all the way across the country, then surely I could keep going through the next five months of treatment.

And we both kept going.

Different journeys. Different challenges. But the same lesson:

Sometimes you don’t have to see the entire road ahead of you. You just have to take the next step.

And Here I Am, Twelve Years Later

I keep coming back to one sentence:

“I can certainly get through the next 5 months.”

Five months.

That was as far ahead as I could see.

I wasn’t thinking about twelve years later. I wasn’t thinking about being in my 50s. I wasn’t thinking about watching my daughters grow into women or about everything our family would experience together. I wasn’t thinking about menopause, aging, my changing body, losing my hair, osteoporosis, inflammation or any of the things I sometimes complain about today.

I was simply trying to get through the next five months.

And I did.

There is something incredibly humbling about reading those words today because sometimes I forget just how much my body has carried me through. I can look in the mirror and focus on everything that has changed. I can get frustrated with my energy, my hair, my posture or the fact that my body doesn’t always cooperate with me the way I wish it would.

But that woman from 2014 would probably look at me very differently.

She might look at me and say, “We’re still here?”

Yes.

We’re still here.

Life certainly hasn’t been perfect since I wrote that post. There have been wonderful years and incredibly difficult ones. There have been moments of tremendous gratitude and moments when I wondered how much more our family could handle. I have watched the people I love go through their own struggles, and I have learned that surviving something doesn’t mean life suddenly becomes easy.

But I’ve also lived twelve more years.

Twelve more birthdays. Twelve more Christmases. Twelve more years of ordinary mornings, family dinners, laughter, arguments, celebrations, worries, vacations, dogs, work, friendships and all of those little moments that don’t seem extraordinary while we’re living them.

That’s the part I don’t want to overlook anymore.

Maybe this is why finding an old blog can be such a gift. We are constantly looking forward at what we still need to fix, accomplish, heal or become. Rarely do we turn around long enough to see the distance we’ve already traveled.

I have spent a lot of time lately thinking about aging and the changes happening to my body. Sometimes I struggle with them. But reading the words of the woman who just wanted to make it through the next five months reminds me that growing older is something she desperately wanted the opportunity to do.

And she got it.

So maybe instead of always asking myself, What’s wrong with me now?, I need to occasionally remind myself:

Look how far you’ve come.

I don’t know what the next twelve years will bring. None of us do.

But apparently the woman who wrote that blog in 2014 already knew exactly how we were going to handle it.

One day at a time.

And today, just as I wrote twelve years ago:

Thank you God for giving me another day. I am truly blessed.