It truly is hard to believe that nine months has come and gone like it was yesterday. Throughout my bout with cancer, I had these magic carrots that dangled off in the distance, celebration to look forward to that would mean I was getting closer to being done with it all. Over the last few months, the carrots have been devoured.
When I was first diagnosed, Addison and I agreed we would have a huge party to not only celebrate, but a thank you party for all our friends and family who helped us along the way. This celebration party took place a few Saturdays ago, and what a party it was.
Cristina surprised me and flew in from Oregon, Dan flew in from Milwaukee, Penny and Mary flew up from Ketchikan and Steve came down from Haines. My friend Susan’s daughter Erin made 90 cupcakes and put them in a beautiful display that would have been a winner in Food Network’s Cupcake Wars. Friends helped decorate the large hall with green and purple balloons as well as flower centerpieces with fresh mint. A DJ in town gave me a 50% discount (because of it being my celebration) but in the end a few friends who wished to remain anonymous (but I think I know who you are) paid the DJ. Over 75 adults and kiddos attended the party and danced the night away. I gave a tearful speech thanking everyone for their support throughout the year, and Lena started the party by proclaiming into the mic the first song request of the evening, “Tonight’s Gonna Be a Good Night!”
The day of the party there were lots of rainbows out, and Lena was pointing them out on the way to the party. We were crossing the bridge when she said, “That rainbow is falling down.” It was actually a para-glider sailing down from Mt. Roberts and she mistook the arch of the parachute for the rainbow. It was an amazing moment and as we continued on to the party, everyone in the car was silent thinking about falling rainbows and the past year.
The day was kind of “my” day, but Lena really stole the show and I was fine with that. She continued to amaze me with little “Lena moments.” When we were at Costco picking up the cake someone asked her if the cake that said “Kicked It!” was her birthday cake. Lena looked at them oddly and said matter of factly, “Um, no. It’s my mommy’s celebration cake!” Later in the day I overheard Lena telling someone that we were having a celebration because her mommy’s cancer is gone and she is done with her treatments. Even at three, my daughter amazes me. Lena danced all night, which is what her and I both envisioned “our” party being. Throughout the evening, children faded and left to go home to bed, but Lena danced until the music stopped. And when the music ended, she helped clean up by putting away candles and sweeping the reception floor with a broom that was wider than she was tall.
The party was everything I imagined. Good friends from near and far, my doctor who found my cancer, my infusion nurse, dancing, children waiving ribbon wands, smiles, hugs, and celebration.
A few days after the party, I started my new job at the Juneau Arts and Humanities Council. It’s actually where my party took place. When I started work on Wednesday morning, I walked into the empty reception hall and it was very quiet. My feet echoed as I crossed the hardwood floor. I looked across the vast empty room and noticed a purple balloon with white polka-dots gently resting about two feet up from floor. It was a balloon from my party. I remember it getting away from us as we were cleaning up and watching it float up towards the ceiling. Lena was worried we’d never get it back. Yet, here it was, barely able to float and holding onto what little strength it had left before it melted into the floor completely. I stood there for a long time staring at it taking in the meaning.
This balloon, which is now sitting on my desk, symbolizes the last of it. Well, I guess the balloon isn’t the only last hurrah. Back in February, my friend Jen sent me a bracelet that said “Cancer Sucks.” I wore it every day and just yesterday, I decided it was time to put it away. Not that I don’t think cancer still sucks, but I really just want to try to move on. I took it off only find that I actually did get a tan this summer because where the bracelet lay on my wrist, glowed a bright white stripe. Like the balloon losing its helium, my cancer sucks tan line will be yet another reminder that will eventually fade.
With that said, I am pleased I learned from this experience, and I hope others did too. Don’t take things for granted and enjoy every second of your life- even the crappy parts. And if you can’t enjoy, try to gain strength from them. My body may still be in recovery mode, but I am now the strongest I’ve ever been.
