Last week I sat with a man talking about his eight-month-old son—his antics, amazing accomplishments at his early age, how much he loves him. Suddenly the dad stared off with a pensive expression. “I told him he’s growing too fast,” he said.

All I could do was smile gently and nod. He’s right. They all grow too fast.

Loss is on my mind this beautiful spring day, when, finally, it’s warm enough to be outside without a down jacket. I’m on my enclosed front porch, my cat Blue curled asleep in the chair beside me. The sun is shining, birds are chirping. A woodpecker is climbing the trunk of the catalpa tree, making that familiar tapping sound. Bees harvest pollen from the bright yellow forsythia blooming just outside my window.

I once read an essay about spring being the “treacherous season.” I wish I knew the author who wrote of vulnerability—tiny baby birds, blind puppies, toddlers walking outside for the very first time. All tragedy needs is a hard wind, a fast rain—a moment’s distraction. Just weeks ago a late snow blanketed my tender lilac buds.

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All doubt, despair, and fear become insignificant

once the intention of life becomes LOVE.

~Rumi

We who are cancer survivors have different kinds of anniversaries. We speak in code to one another, inquiring about health, sharing the latest—especially when it is good news—because we know the wolf is always at the door. We are in a club none of us chose to join, but we cherish our fellow members.

On January 23rd, a friend in my club asked how I’m doing. He asked in the nuanced way we ask. And when I inquired about him, he quietly told me he’d had his four-year check up the week before, and, “All is well.”

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“New Year’s most glorious light is sweet hope!”

~Mehmet Murat ildan

Of the many milestones in a year—birthdays, holidays, anniversaries of any kind—none force us to reflect or compel us to look forward as much as the New Year itself.

In late December, we are bombarded with “Best of” lists—movies, music, theatrical productions, and books. There are also “Year in Review” lists—recaps of newsworthy events occurring over the past twelve months. Photographs. Last week, a posting of 2015 in international photographs brought me to my knees. There is no denying the world is a hot mess.

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October is Breast Cancer Awareness month, and I want to share my personal experiences—yet again. Last year at this time, I was a twelve-year survivor. Those who know me or follow my posts are aware that I had a reoccurrence this past January. Once again, it was found through my yearly mammogram and caught in the very earliest stages. Once again, I am profoundly grateful. While there is an abundance of confusing and conflicting information out there, one thing hold true—early detection saves lives. My mission, in continuing to share my story, is to inspire readers to take action on their own behalves, as well as to bring comfort and HOPE to those who are struggling with their own diagnosis—or love someone who is.

I didn’t realize what a daunting task it would be when I decided to write my very first blog in October on the topic of breast cancer.  The original idea came from a celebratory place—on Friday, September 28, I had my yearly diagnostic mammogram and was declared cancer free.  I am now a 10 year survivor—which puts me in the 82nd percentile of women who make it this long.

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Today is Mother’s Day, and, as much as I enjoy being celebrated for being a mom, the day is bittersweet for me—as it is for most of us who have lost our moms. The loss of your mother brings both a unique and universal sorrow.

When I was a little girl, there was a tradition on Mother’s Day. At church, carnations were available for all the women. Those whose mothers were still alive got a red carnation, and those whose moms had died got a white one. As a child, I never thought about how that would feel—to get a white carnation. I could not have imagined.

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