2. It Doesn’t Matter
I woke this morning replaying the words I heard yesterday — “You have incurable metastatic breast cancer.”
Really hard words to hear, nearly impossible to process. So, on this morning, I have decided the diagnosis doesn’t matter because it is a beautiful crisp fall morning, with leaves in all their autumnal glory — of course they are all over my yard and driveway, but that is Tim’s issue to deal with.
It doesn’t matter because I spent time with Mr. Wonderful having our morning coffee, sipping in silence, each thinking about the things going on in our lives, but not wanting to spoil the moments we love so much with the clang of cancer talk.
It doesn’t matter because my darling granddaughter knocked on our front door ready for breakfast at MammyGram’s and Gee’s house, oblivious to the hard news that she will soon hear.
It doesn’t matter because I had a really good night’s sleep, the first in weeks — of course it was delivered courtesy of a pain pill and a Xanax, but whatever.
It doesn’t matter because I have wonderful family and friends who have been reaching out with love and support and sending hugs from afar.
It doesn’t matter because I have the most wonderful primary care physician who is a skilled clinician, but more importantly a kind, decent man who I know has lost sleep over my condition and is bravely and compassionately walking the last steps of my life with me, and allowing me to lean against him when the path gets rough.
It doesn’t matter because I have two sisters-in-law, Kathy and Eileen, who share their medical knowledge with me with kindness and with complete honesty and who tell me often that they love me, and I know they do.
It doesn’t matter because my best friend, Donna Eaton, is up day and night and at the ready for any call that I need to make, and I make them.
It doesn’t matter because my mother, Shirley, brother, Donnie, and sister, Marjorie, the people who have been with me every step of my life’s journey, are still walking with me, slump-shouldered with the weight of sadness, but they trudge along.
It doesn’t matter because our little family tribe has grown with welcome additions, a wonderful sister-in-law and adorable babies for my niece and her tree-climbing, worthy man.
It doesn’t matter because Tim’s family, all 973 of them (just kidding) are thinking of me and praying with me — of course they are doing it at Breens lifting a pint, as it should be.
It doesn’t matter because my husband, Tim, and daughters, Hannah and Jessica, are holding me up when I need it, hugging me tighter because I need it, and comforting me with the knowledge that I will live on in their thoughts and hearts.
I have decided that cancer doesn’t matter. It is the final part of my story, but it is sooooo not the important parts of my story — those are about the love I gave and received every day, and will continue to share when I’m gone. So, my hope now is to greet every day with the same joy I felt this morning when I woke.