A Love Letter to My Best Friend

I never knew what it was like to have a friend who was always by my side, who chose me over everyone in the room, who was never fickle, whose friendship I never questioned — until I met you.  

Out of all the dogs in the animal shelter, you were the one.   I was there to look at a litter of black labs who were spastic and hyperactive, not even noticing I was in the room.  But you noticed.  As I sat on the floor of the shelter trying to get one of the labs to interact with me, I felt your eyes on me.  I turned around and saw you sitting patiently wagging your tail, begging me to ask to see you.  I asked one of the shelter employees what the story was with you.  She told me you had just been returned to the shelter after your first family decided they didn't want you.  I looked at you and couldn't understand how anyone wouldn't want that adorable sweet face.  When they opened your cage, you gently walked up to me, crawled in my lap, looked up at me with your big brown eyes, and peed all over me.  Claiming me as yours, me claiming you as mine. 

I called you by so many names. Yashie, Fluffy Butt, Captain Fuzzy Butt, Keta-Pants, Yasha-Roo, Snow Monkey, Snugglelufogous, Keta-Lips, Yasharooni, and Yaya Toure, but, above all, you will always be my one and only, sweet Yasha Keta. Named after Yasha Island, a tiny speck of an island south of Admiralty.  

"She's a husky", someone told me.  "She won't like to swim or play fetch." You proved them wrong and loved to do both.  You loved the snow and even at twelve years old, you'd turn into a puppy with the each snowfall as you rolled in it making snow dog angels and snow tunnels. I love that it snowed your last night on earth giving you a chance to walk through the pristine white and letting it stick to your shiny black nose as you looked up towards the sky one last time. 

You loved salmon, whipped cream in the can, and vanilla ice cream. But you hated men who wore berets, but then again, who doesn't? You never let me pee alone, even learning to open closed bathroom doors with your secret opposable thumb to keep me company while I sat on the toilet. 

You were my guardian for the birth of both my babies, barking at me to let me know the first one was on the way!  You cried a mournful cry when I had complications following the second one, your cries matching mine, knowing I was in trouble. You were with me every step when I battled cancer, nuzzling your nose to mine when I'd lie in bed for days after chemo treatments. 

You protected me with a fierceness to be matched by none. You saved my hide from harm more than once, and I'll never forget what you did for me, jeopardizing yourself to help me.  You lived to protect me, Lena and Aurelia -- and even Cayo. 

You saw me through heartbreak and some of the worst times in my life.  Your steadfast love kept me going with your fluffy body acting as a pillow to cry on. You often made me stop and breathe when I'd feel my world slipping out of my control. You were my first zen master, teaching me to slow down and enjoy the moment. You really had that nailed and I still think you could have been the first ever dog yoga teacher or at least have led guided meditations. 

And oh boy could you smile like no other dog has ever smiled before! And your dancing ability?  Off the charts!  You LOVED to dance. You'd put your paws in my hands and we'd dance to your favorite music, mostly ABBA and The Fables. You had the best moves always putting mine to shame. 

I know you thought I was crazy when I brought that Belizean stray home.  But if you had seen her living on the streets starved and getting abused, you would have rescued her too. I know you tried to teach her the ins and outs of being an Alaskan dog and she still hasn't quite got it, but your patience with her was unwavering.  At least you were able to convince her she didn't need to wear that silly sweater all the time.  I realize she's aloof and slightly senile, but I know her heart is breaking today too.  She's currently snuggling with your hedgehog toy that you've had since you were a puppy. She never touched it while you were alive out of respect for you.  But today she’s snuggling with it and not trying to eat it, which says a lot for the dog who eats everything.

I always told you I'd never let you suffer, and I held to those words. I also used to tell you I was going to get you stuffed and mounted like they did to "Rowdy" on that TV show Scrubs, but I'm not going to do that.  Instead, I'm always going to remember that feeling of that one little spot where your floppy ears met the side of your head, creating the most velvety soft downy fur that even the Velveteen Rabbit would covet. They were the last thing I kissed goodbye before I wrapped your fuzzy body in your fleece blanket.  But that’s not how I want to remember you. I'm going to remember your smile and your big brown eyes, and how no matter what, you were always glad to see me. 

So many people loved you and wanted to say their goodbyes. You were a special dog, and I'm not just saying that because you were mine. You just had that thing about you that made people love you.  Maybe it was your smiley and kind face.  Maybe it was your floppy ears.  Perhaps it was your intelligence and your ability to make everyone around you calm and happy. You just were like no other. 

Even in your illness, your priority was me.  You waited for me to get back from my work trip, I know you did.  You knew I was sad and you stayed close to me, watching me intently, resting your head on me looking up at me with those concerned eyes wondering what you could do to make me feel better.  I tried to hold it together for you, but sometimes the grief was too much. 

You were the first dog to come into my life and you're the first one I've had to let go of.  Thank you for picking me in that shelter.  Thank you for  teaching me to be a better person, showing me unconditional love and loyalty, teaching me to breathe, and taking care of me the last twelve years.  Thank you for waiting for me to come home before you went on your final walkabout.  This time, I won't be worried about you not coming back home, and I'll rest easy knowing you are safe. 

Not having you constantly as my shadow is going to take a lot to get used to. But as I sit here in your absence, your tufts of fur are still gently rolling past me on the floor like downy tumbleweed. A gentle reminder of a great dog and best friend. Enjoy this walkabout my sweet friend, you deserve to run free and find many more streams with rotting salmon. 

 A few of my favorite Yasha pictures.

Quite possibly the cutest puppy ever, 2004

In Haines with Zimovia and Chomley, 2004.  Those cats were such assholes to Yasha as a puppy.  

October 2016 Selfie

Yasha's secret hidey-hole in the backyard, 2012

Seriously....that smile! 2012

Smiling selfie, 2015

A girl and her dog.  Yasha and Lena 2014

Shorty after we brought home the Belizean, 2015.  Yasha was not overly amused by this addition.

Beach picnic in front of my work, Yasha guarding the girls (and the pizza), 2015

Happy 11th Birthday!  2015

Oh those eyes and soft fluffy ears. 2017

Yasha and me on her 12th Birthday weekend at Blue Mussel cabin. September 2016

Watching our girls play, Blue Mussel cabin birthday weekend

Happy Mud Face, Blue Mussel 2016

Morning coffee and contemplation ritual.  Every day, last twelve years.

Lena and Yasha, 2009

Oh we were once so young! 2007

Yasha meets Aurelia, 2009

Lena practicing her vet skills on the extremely happy patient, 2009

Aurelia, the animal whisperer, 2010

Yasha and her best friend and neighbor, Dude, 2015

Quite possibly the only time Yasha was not smiling, 2005.

Haines, 2006.  Yasha was always leery of my parka.

Christmas, 2007

The day I got back from my work trip, March 9, 2017

The day before.  Still wanting to eat smoked canned salmon.  Of course I let her eat it.  March 11, 2017

Last picture of Yasha.  Taken the night before.  We sat by this fire all evening sharing memories.  We both knew this was our last chance to snuggle and tell each other how much we loved each other.  She ate whipping cream for dessert after this picture was taken.  March 11, 2017

Alaska Airlines, you'll have to pack your bags without me this time.

Nearly every day, I find myself doing quick price checking on Alaska Airlines to see if I can afford to get out of town.  Ninety-nine percent of the time, I confirm discover to my surprise that I can’t afford the flight and I close the search engine.  But that doesn’t stop Alaska Airlines from sending me an e-mail telling me they are ready to go to XXXXXX! (insert placed I just price checked).

The e-mail is chipper and condescending.  That’s great Alaska Airlines that you’re ready to go to Seattle for a mere $800 round trip from Juneau when just two months ago I paid $142 round trip to fly the exact same route on your award-winning airline.

As a lifelong Southeast Alaskan, I have been held hostage by Alaska Airlines for as long as I can remember.  I won’t deny the fact that they offer great customer service, some of the best pilots in the world, and a good mileage awards system.  This is why even when Delta moved in to Southeast Alaska and a price war ensued, I still chose Alaska.  It is a choice I regret now that Delta has pulled their winter service and prices have once again skyrocketed to exorbitant costs.

Let’s do some price checking.  Please note that I searched all of these tickets one-way for July 3 and chose the lowest option available, no matter the number of stops. Let’s face it, when you’re looking to fly cheap, you don’t really care how many stops you have to make.

Seattle to Dallas:

THREE HOURS AND FORTY-FIVE minutes of enjoyable Wi-Fi and USB power at your seat for only $207!  Not to mention the cheese and fruit plate for purchase.  A screaming deal!

Seattle to New York:

A 5-hour direct flight for $301.

Seattle to San Francisco:

$120.  Please note that two hours plus a few minutes is the same flight time as Seattle to Juneau.

And finally, Seattle to Juneau:

Complete with a five-hour layover in Sitka for a grand total of $402.

I understand there are a lot of factors that play into pricing aside from flying time and jet fuel.  But I still call B.S.

For once, I’d like to be able to rely on the fact that I will get a fair priced ticket for my two-hour flight south.  I’m not asking for $142 round-trip tickets, but I am asking for fair.  There has to be a happy medium.  You are our choice Alaska Airlines, even when you are our only choice, we still choose you.  Please, treat Alaskan’s with respect.  After all, you’re named after us.

It's Okay to Disagree--Just Vote.

Like most kids, my girls are sponges who absorb any information thrown their way.  They are extremely gullible convincible and can be talked into most anything.  Lena was once convinced I needed Ginsu knives because the commercial on TV said every kitchen needs them.  Ginsu knives aside, their latest infatuation and opportunity for absorption is the election of our new mayor.

Sadly, our former mayor passed away only a few months into office, creating an unexpected scramble to fill the mayoral seat.  I liked our former mayor.  We used to work in the same building and we’d talk about fishing and politics.  He’d smiled at my then baby and toddler and herd them back to my office when they escaped down the hall.  I was really excited to see what he would do as leader of our capital city, and his death was extremely sad and unfortunate.  I don’t want to be voting for a mayor, because I already voted for the candidate I wanted.

Without reading any information on either of the new candidates, my vote was swayed by the majority of my like-minded friends who almost unanimously chose the same candidate.  Pretty soon, this candidate’s name was plastered in my world and I barely knew the other candidate existed.  Yard signs went up, fundraisers were hosted, the former mayor’s son made a public endorsement, and my Facebook newsfeed was scattered with endorsement for this candidate.  I still knew nothing about the candidate except all my friends wanted her to win—and so did my children.  Say what?  How does a six year old and eight year old know who they want to be mayor?  Easy, they absorb it from their surroundings.  Apparently, their step-grandparents are big fans of this candidate and held a fundraiser which my kids attended.  I’ve been hearing from my girls non-stop that I should vote for this candidate because that’s who they are voting for (if they could vote).

Yesterday, before driving over the Douglas Bridge, the girls and I drove through a lively intersection overflowing with supporters for both candidates waving and holding signs encouraging horn-honking and interaction.  Truthfully, this has always made me uncomfortable.  Aside from the fact there are enough distractions while driving, I loathe getting stuck in the intersection and being forced to awkwardly make eye-contact with someone while I’m busting out Adele’s “Hello.”  I usually do my best to stare straight ahead and restrain myself from flipping them the bird because I know they are probably really nice people, but right at that moment, I just find them annoying.  Their signs are not going to help me choose a candidate, so for me; they may as well not be there.  My girls however think it’s awesome, so I find myself shrinking lower into my seat as they wave to the supporters and even blow them kisses (okay, so they blew one kiss, to their step-grandfather, but still, kisses were blown and not by me). 

Noticing I was not participating in the hoopla, my girls once again told me who they were voting for and told me they were glad that even though our family is divided, we are all voting for the same person.  This is where I put on the brakes, figuratively speaking.  I was quick to inform them that they had no idea who I was voting, which left them speechless.  Stunned, Lena asked me who I was voting for.  I told her the truth: I wasn’t sure.  Yes, it was less than 24 hours until Election Day, but I still hadn’t done my research.  I asked them why they wanted their choice to win and why they were voting for her.  They said they didn’t know and that they are only voting for her because that’s who their dad, step-mom, and step-grandparents are voting for.  I pushed them harder and asked them if they knew the candidate’s stance on anything.  After explaining to them what “stance” meant, they still couldn’t tell me anything.  I told them that I planned on doing some reading and research that evening to get some facts about each candidate before making my decision.  Lena amazed me by asking if I could share those facts with them so they could decide who they wanted to vote for. I told her that was an excellent idea and I was proud of her for not feeling she needed to vote for who her parents want to win.  I then blew the cover off the whole discussion by admitting that the majority of the time, I don’t vote the same way as my parents! (Gasp!) Aurelia was quick to pipe in “and they still love you.”  Yes, they do still love me.  It may have been questionable during the 2008 presidential election whether I’d ever be allowed back in my parent’s house, but we all got over it and at the end of the day, we still love each other, no matter our political differences.

Rocking the "I Voted" Sticker

Last night, as I lay in bed sandwiched between my girls, I read some stats on the candidates and came up with my decision.  It doesn’t matter who I chose because at the end of the day, I know I made the right decision, and that decision is to just get out and vote—no matter who you choose. 

The bottom line is, we are all different and have different beliefs, but I love you just the same. 

PS- There’s always this option:

Being Able to Celebrate is the Best Gift of All

Ah, birthdays. Once we become adults we are taught to “dread” our birthdays and not make a big deal about them.  Another year older, more wrinkles, more gray hair, what’s there to like about that?  I’ll tell you what’s to like: you’re here.

I have friends who downplay their birthdays and make a point to tell their family and friends to not make a big deal about it.  Me on the other hand?  I want to stand out in the street dancing and singing, “It’s my birthday!  I’m still here!”  I want to have a party with my family and friends and celebrate life, my life and their life.  We are here!

I loved birthdays as a kid because let’s face it, my mom threw the best birthday parties.  They weren’t fancy, no pool or movie theater rental.  They were simple homegrown sleepovers where mom would make homemade pizza, we’d play silly games that my mom made up and we’d all cram on the floor in our sleeping bags and wake up to mom making waffles in the morning.  I can recall every friend that was at those parties, but I couldn’t tell you a single gift I was given, which is exactly how I want to remember it. 

As I got older, my mom stopped throwing me parties and I jumped on the “it’s just a birthday” bandwagon.  No biggie, nothing to see here.   But then, I got cancer.  The first birthday after I beat cancer, an ad for the American Cancer Society came on the TV with famous people singing Happy Birthday.  The idea behind the commercial was, imagine a life with more birthdays and less cancer.  I sat on my couch with my peach-fuzz hair growing back and sobbed my eyes out.  I would never again, ever, take my birthday for granted.

I have a friend celebrating a birthday today. A friend who spent the last 2 ½ months in intensive care fighting for his life and today, on his birthday, he is being discharged.  I sent him a Happy Birthday message and he replied back, “Best birthday ever!”  I then told him they will be the best from here on out.  I truly do believe they just get better with age.

I don’t expect my friends or family to throw me huge parties on my birthday, in fact, I don’t expect them to do anything or even remember, but that doesn’t mean I won’t walk around grinning like an idiot floating high on the knowledge that I’m still here and I am HAPPY to be another year older. 

When people get excited about your birthday and want to do something for you—be happy!  Don’t give them the “I don’t do birthdays” or “let’s just get this over with” look.  They want to do something because they love you and they are happy you are on this earth.  We never know when our last birthday will be, so celebrate each one like it’s the best one ever.

Me, smiling big on my 39th birthday

Let it Go

It’s been three months since I wrote my kick in the butt post and I feel it’s time for a check in to see how everyone is doing with their self-butt kicking.  I’ve heard from so many folks how that post hit a nerve—in a good way.  Well, that just makes my little old heart swell.  I believe it’s so important to reflect on our life and take inventory on how we are doing.

So, how are we doing?  Since my own New Year’s Eve butt kick motivational speech, I’ve been trying to focus on happiness and letting things go.  Yes, I am going to say it.  Let it Go!  (Cue parents everywhere covering their ears and cringing).   As my One Hot Mess Alaska Blogger friend Libby refers to her, “That bitch Elsa,” has a good point.  I hear from so many friends that they just have too much going on.  Between jobs, kids, commitments, appointments, and life, we just don’t seem to have any time to breathe.  I look at my friends and they all look so tired and worn out— sorry friends, but it’s true.  It looks like they’ve been hit by a bus, or hit a bus. 

Speaking of hitting buses, a few months ago, I did just that.  Yes, I plowed my SUV mom-mobile right into a parked school bus.  Granted I was going under five miles an hour, but I somehow managed to total my car. I don’t know what happened other than I got vertigo, started seeing double and drove for a mile and a half pretty much unconscious before I snapped out of it and convinced myself it would be a good idea to pull over— right into a school bus.  I actually said out loud and very matter-of-fact to Aurelia, “Oh, look at that, momma hit a bus.”  In her head, I’m sure Aurelia said, “No shit, Sherlock,” because that’s the type of thing my five-year old would say if allowed.

I spent the day in the ER while the doctors tested me for strokes, MS, and cancer; and the police tested me for alcohol and uncontrolled substances.  Cause you know, the first thing I do every morning is wash my crack down with a bottle of Crown before driving my kids to school.  After having me stand on one foot while looking up and counting backwards by seven, mind you I find these tasks difficult while sober, they failed me and went straight to the blood test.  Negative. Take that coppers.  No one could find anything wrong with me, but I had a hunch what was going on.

The night before the incident, I was lying in bed envying celebrities who check into hospitals for exhaustion.  How awesome would that be? Someone would bring me food.  I wouldn’t have to make it, I wouldn’t have to serve it, I wouldn’t have to jump up ten times during eating it to get someone more milk or stand guard in the bathroom enforcing hand washing after toilet use.  I would be oh so polite and say “please” and “thank you” and “this tastes amazing” as I eat my instant butterscotch pudding IN BED while watching Judge Judy.  For a girl who has spent a lot of time in hospitals, it’s not a good sign when you start to wish you could rest in one.

Simply put, I was drained and I needed to slow down.  Between one full-time job, one part-time job, being a single-mom of two active girls, and wrestling with my Type-A personality which is always trying to please, I had shifted into overdrive and burned out.

Where is that balance of getting done what absolutely needs to get done and letting go of the extras while still finding time to enjoy life?  This equation is a difficult one for me to solve and I’m always open to ideas.  I have found meditation really helps me.  I find it very hard to press the mute button on my overactive Type-A brain.  My mind wanders like crazy from “What I am going to eat for lunch” to “Did she really say her cousin was in prison” to “Was that tumble weed or a giant fur ball that just scurried across the floor” to “Man, I need to brush the dog” to “Wouldn’t it be nice to have a maid” to “No, no, if I could have one splurge, I’d prefer a live-in massage therapist” to “Why are my eyes open” to “Let it go and just breathe!”

I can last anywhere from 5-20 minutes and over time; I’ve become better at shutting my brain off.  I tell myself, “That’s nice, move on.”  I don’t get frustrated at my random thoughts anymore and once I can acknowledge and dismiss them, I can go back to concentrating on breathing.  What a difference it makes.  My head is clearer and I can be productive without feeling overwhelmed.  Just like appointments and meetings, I schedule in time to meditate and do things I enjoy.

I also have to say no a lot more, which can be very difficult, but it has improved my life tenfold.  Saying no can be so hard when you want to be a pleaser, which I always do.  But there comes a point where saying yes to everything takes a toll on your body mentally and physically.  Most of the time, it’s not even the act of saying the word “no”, it’s just the act of not volunteering and saying “yes” which as it turns out, is totally okay to do.  Someone recently told me if they didn’t volunteer to be the chair of a committee, no one would and the whole thing would fail.  I told them, “So it fails.”  Yeah, it would suck, but eventually, someone else may step in and fill those shoes if they deem it important.  I told my friend if it’s causing him that much stress, then he’s probably not being affective at it and it’s not worth it to always feel bad or guilty for not giving 100%.  Let it go.

I also make sure to listen to plenty of music and get outside as much as possible.  Sometimes it’s just stepping outside and sitting on my porch with Yasha the wonder dog after I’ve put the girls to bed.  Yasha is an excellent listener and sometimes she will even let me lay my head on her and use her as a pillow as I gaze up at the stars.  From my porch we’ve seen the northern lights, shooting stars, goats on the mountain, porcupines scurrying across the road, and seals playing in the channel.  All things I’d be too busy to notice if I was too busy to stop and breathe.

I’m also a big believer in keeping your heart young.  Which reminds me, *shameless plug* I’m singing at the Alaska Folk Festival on Sunday April 12^th at 8 PM.  Coincidentally, one of the songs I’ll be singing is Brandi Carlile’s, “Keep Your Heart Young.”

Remember; secure your own air mask before assisting others around you.  If you don’t take care of yourself first, everything else goes to hell in a handbasket.

P.S.- Lena's Birthday is Saturday.  She has a class party on Friday, a family dinner/celebration on Friday night, and a kid birthday on Saturday.  I am making ONE cake.  Hear that universe?  One freaking cake.  Dixie cup ice cream for the class, cupcakes made by a dear friend for Friday night, and ONE single layer (no boats this time) cake by me.  See, I'm letting it go.

New Year’s Eve Motivational Speech 2015

The past four New Year’s Eves, I’ve had the same resolution- work towards being happy.  This is a work in progress and I have cancer to thank for this. 

For as much as I hate cancer and how it can rip lives apart, I have to admit, for me, getting cancer was an awakening.  I can say this because I had one of those cancers that has a 90% 5-year survival rate.  I was lucky—extremely lucky.  This April will be my fifth year in remission and I still thank my lucky stars I got one of the “good” ones.

So where does the sense of awakening come from?  After my diagnosis and the initial shock, sadness, and rage wore off; acceptance sunk in.  Acceptance caused me to pause and evaluate where I was in life.  Was I happy?  No, and I hadn’t been for some time.  I had given up my career in museums and my dream of being a museum director to get married, have a family, piecemeal jobs together (usually working two part-time jobs, if not three), and I was in an unhealthy and unhappy marriage.

We all change as we get older.  Our bodies change, we become more mature (maybe), our values may become more pronounced, and heck, we may even start to like Brussel sprouts (if there is enough bacon fat added to the skillet).  But deep down, the bright light that makes up all that is you should still be present.  My bright light had been extinguished years before I was diagnosed with cancer.  I was a mere shell of a person on autopilot just trying to get through the day.  I was working to make everyone else happy while completely neglecting my own need for love and nurture.  I wasn’t receiving it in return and I had forgotten that it is something we all need to thrive.  I continued to take care of my physical body.  I exercised and ate a mostly organic diet making great attempts to stay away from hormones and preservatives.  But when you are deprived of love and support, it’s hard to be mentally strong.  I lost all sense of who I was or used to be and went on autopilot where it was easier to feel nothing than it was to notice love's lack of presence. 

I continued to smile for pictures and trained myself to laugh without emotion.  My parents noticed it.  My long-time friends noticed it.  They all hinted that I wasn’t the same, that something was wrong.  A small few who knew the details of my situation urged me to wake up and be the bad-ass girl they used to know.  But, the girl that didn’t take shit from anyone and wasn’t afraid of anything was nowhere to be found.  The girl that remained was frightened, worn-down, and timid.  The old me would have noticed my situation from a mile away and told the girl to wake up and look at what was going on around her.  But I was no longer that girl.

I clearly remember the defining moment when I relit that flame inside me.  Spending a lot of time in hospital waiting rooms and chemo infusion rooms, I rediscovered my love for music.  I hadn’t been listening to it much and I certainly wasn’t buying anything new. When I got sick, a dear friend, who was dismayed that I had not heard the last four Indigo Girls albums, burned them for me and mailed them to me.  And, just in case the IGs are reading this, I did end up purchasing them for myself.  The first one I listened to was from Poseidon and the Bitter Bug which had just come out.  I was coming out of a four day chemo haze and had just returned home from dropping my mom off at the airport.  The song Fleet of Hope came on and the world around me paused.  I walked over to my arctic entry, which at the time had the only view of the water from my house. I stared out at Gastineau Channel and swam in the lyrics, and then drowned in my own tears.

"When I was a girl
All of my fancy took flight
And I had this dream
Could outshine anything
Even the darkest night
Now I wait like a widow for someone to come back from sea
I've always known
I was waiting for me”

It was a slap in the face, waking me up from a six year blur of unhappiness.  At that moment, I realized how precious our life is and how lucky we are every day to be here. Damn lucky. If we’re here on this earth, we should be happy.  I decided at that moment I wanted to be happy and I wasn’t going to let anything or anyone get in my way.

I had a long way to go.  It was February and I wouldn’t be done with my treatments until the end of July.  I also knew after that, I had to make some big and difficult decisions.  I listened to Fleet of Hope almost every day, and with each treatment, I realized I was one step closer to healing not only my cancer, but my soul.

The past four years has been a long and hard haul.  I’ve had to let go of resentment, anger, and regret— which has been a huge challenge.  Hardest of all though was learning to feel again.  Finally out of my numbness and autopilot, I was forced to face head on all that I had been through since I had stopped feeling years before.  I spiraled into deep depression, something I had never experienced.  Let me tell you, that stuff is the real deal.  It is dark, it is painful, it feels hopeless and you can’t just snap out of it.  I found my way out with the help of new friends who took me in and showered me with love and kindness.  I also had the help of a wonderful therapist and anti-depressants.  No shame.  If you have diabetes, you need insulin.  If you have a broken arm, you need a cast. If you experience depression or have any other type of mental illness, you need help as it just won’t go away on its own.

I learned you can’t just wake up one day and put on that thrift store sweater and Doc Martins from high school and say, “Today I am going to be the person I used to be, the person I used to love and be proud of.”  Nope, it doesn’t work that way.  It takes time to re-ignite that flame and sometimes you have to work extra hard to make sure it doesn’t go out.  I’ve had old friends tell me they feel like I’m back; I’m the girl I used to be.  But I know I’ll never be that girl again who looked out into the world with unjaded eyes ready to take it head on.  Honestly, I think I can be better than that girl.  Knowing what I know now, I appreciate things so much more and I’m more cautious about diving in without knowledge of what rocks lie below.  I still dive in from time to time, but I try to remember to wear a helmet.

I’ve regained so much confidence in the past two years. This past year, the girl whose idea to cut down the trees in the front yard to expose the view of the water, which was shot down time and time again, took a chainsaw to those trees and now she sits with her coffee in the morning gazing out at the water, letting light into her windows and her life. This girl who was taught to pinch pennies and made to feel guilty spending money on herself, took a frivolous trip to France and Switzerland exposing her daughters to the world of travel and culture while feeding her own desire to travel.  And the best part is, she can enjoy it all, feel it all, and be confident in her decisions without feeling scared or guilty.

I hope I never have to go through cancer again.  Going through nine months of surgeries, chemo and radiation are no cakewalk, and I have lasting side effects that are always there to remind me.  I don’t have much dexterity or feeling in my fingertips due to the nerve damage the chemo caused.  I have two prominent scars from surgeries and a blue dot tattooed in the middle of my chest placed for radiation alignment.  And if those daily reminders aren’t enough, I get reminded a few times a year when I have to wait for the results of my post-cancer blood tests.  I have a love-hate relationship with these reminders.  I see the scars in the mirror and they remind me of what I’ve been through.  I'll admit, the past four years have come with some major hiccups that try to knock me down.  But each time I'm faced with a challenge, I look at my scars and remind myself I've been through worse.

Am I thankful I got cancer?  Nope.  But I am thankful for the second chance I’ve been given to wake up and enjoy my life.  As we go into 2015, I urge you all to look at your life and take a good hard assessment.  Are you healthy?  Please take your health seriously, I can’t stress this enough.  Have a weird mole?  Get it looked at.  Feel a bit run down and not sure why?  Go see your doctor.  Experiencing depression or anxiety?  Get help— it’s nothing to be ashamed of.  Are you happy and feeling like you are living your life the 18 year old version of you would be proud of?  If not, what changes do you need to make to feel again and care enough about yourself to live your life to the fullest and be happy?  Don’t wait for something catastrophic to come along and kick you in the butt like I did.  Instead, bend over and let me do it for you.  Consider this your official kick in the butt live your life and be happy motivational speech of 2015.

Get out there.  Live your life to the fullest.  Never stop loving yourself.  Realize you are worthy of being loved and feeling happy.