[An Open Vein I Mean Letter To #fuckcancer]
I am still here.
#lucky7 years out from that day
(the mother of bad daze)
when my doctor called and said that damn c-word
(the mother of curse words)
(the mother of my sweet Redheads)
My. 3. Reasons.
Who fell into 3 separate heaps on the floor
At the sound of that word.
Sticks and stones…
Words don’t hurt…
I call bullshit on that.
That one word hurt like hell.
It shook the ground beneath us.
I stood my ground though
A little #shakennotstirred
—but only because I am mommy hear me fucking ROAR if you hurt my kids
And that damn word
Knocked all 3 of my babies—
—it knocked all 3 of them
To the ground
In one fell swoop.
3 separate, sobbing heaps.
And there I was
One very sick and mortal, broken mama
2 heaving, soon-to-be-leaving, breasts
3 broken hearts to hold
But only 2 arms
And 1 lap.
THE hardest mommy moment EVER.
But something kicked into gear for me—
Some superpower mommy gear I didn’t even know I had
Somehow I managed to gather them up
With these two hands.
We held on tight.
Literally, for dear life.
It’s been 2,565 tomorrows
That I didn’t know I would get to see
Since that damn day.
I’ve gotten to open.
2,565 days I’ve gotten to seize
Days I’ve wrung both the sunshine
And the daylight out of
—before the sun set on me.
2,565 chances to make sure my 3 reasons knew
Out loud and clear and proud
That my one thing
Was to cash in all my chips on loving them
And playing my cards in such a way
That they would miss the crap out of me—
If, by chance, the odds were not in my favor
(But, they were. Thank God. And may they ever be.)
2,565 days to spend myself making sure they remember me loving them HARD.
P.S. I think they do.
So take THAT cancer.
Or should I say, CANTcer?
Anyway, 7 years in a nutshell?
It’s been the ride of my life.
Even the hard parts
Cuz even they meant I’m still here
And my hands are in the air:
Cuz it’s where I’m at.
And what a gift the present IS.
Raise your hand if you’re present…
(I don’t see your hand CANTcer.)
Now, in case you’re wondering
This is NOT where I say thank you, cancer
And bust out singing how you made me into this fighter.
The truth is—
My 3 Reasons,
And loving THEM. (Not fighting you.)
That’s what made me stronger.
I thank THEM.
I thank my sweet Amanda.
I thank my sweet Matteo.
I thank my sweet Mikeyy.
No thank YOU. Very much.
Then why am I even bothering to tell you all this?
You’d think I’d be over you by now.
You’d think I’d have gotten everything “off my chest”
But I haven’t.
You may be done with me
And God-willing, this is my case
End of THAT story.
But, it’s not your will.
And I’m cool with that
Come what may.
And may his will be done on earth, as it is in heaven.
And in me, too.
Regardless of all that
You oughta know [cue: Alanis Morissette]
I’m not done with you yet, damn cancer
Not as long as this ticker
—That you tried to seek and destroy
With the Red Devil
And the mustard gas
And even the good Herceptinis
Aka my chemo cocktail.
Not as long as this ticker keeps ticking.
Not as long as you keep picking on my friends
—Especially, when you go picking on kids.
That’s the lowest blow of them all, you motherfucker.
So, let me repeat…
Not as long as this ticker keeps going and going…
Like that pink bunny
—I don’t know what keeps him going.
Or my heart, for that matter
Except this is what I do know:
It beats for my friends
And especially, the kids.
And you, cancer, have ticked. ME. Off.