We sat in the car at the Cancer Center, the ol' mountain man silent next to me for the longest time. "So?" I prompted. "I need a minute," he said, his deep voice shaking a little. "Do you mind, girl?" he asked. "Not at all. Take your time," I told him and reached for that weathered, wrinkled hand that I used to think was stronger than steel. I squeezed it gently and waited.

"I don't even know what to think, or how to say what I'm feeling. Right now my thoughts are this strange kaleidoscope. Does that even make sense?" he wanted to know, those green eyes searching mine for answers. "Of course," I assured him, having had thoughts that looked to my mind precisely like that which he'd described, although admittedly in regards to completely different circumstances.

All of us come at our mortality in different ways, particularly when that time is small. We all must also take those steps completely alone, whether we're surrounded by loved ones or not. For me, I think less about my death than I do trying to focus on exactly what I'm doing with my life. I also try to appreciate every moment of every day, which is certainly not always easy. How does one go about real appreciation for a day that frankly flat out sucks? Because let's face it, we have them. And what if one of "those" was your LAST day? Total. Bummer.

The news from the doctor was the best it could be under the circumstances, and my father unexpectedly dubbed me his "good luck charm". It might be the most lovely moniker he's given me my entire life, even if it's completely frivolous. Even if I didn't need him to say something so sweet. Mostly, I hope he'll use the reprieve he's been given to do happy things. I hope he'll squeeze every drop of  life out of every day he has left. As he started the car, he said, "Let's go celebrate the fact that it looks like I'll get to see the flowers I planted actually bloom this Spring." Works for me. Blooming flowers, budding life...these are always something worth celebrating!

The morning sky turned watercolor blue, as the sliver of a moon kept silent watch. Soft sounds of old love songs I've heard a thousand times danced out of speakers in the door, while my car headed down the well-traveled road. The air outside is balmy for February, but I'm not going to complain. It's refreshing and a lovely change from feeling the winter cold down to my bones. I am struck by the sameness of my morning, am, in fact, more than a bit OCD in my routines but there is a comfort in the sameness that stops short of being mundane. It is quietly familiar, this drive to a place I love, a job that is so much more than that, and people who make me happy with their smiling faces, endless hope, and the thousands of stories they, too, carry around throughout their day.

I remember a boss from a time thankfully passed, who told me I wasn't a "good fit". Her words felt like a slap and stung long after she'd uttered them. Now, however, they are more of a mantra that walks comfortably alongside this year I've named "Live your BEST life." The premise is to eek out every single scrap of happy from the days as they come, and to find all of the places and people to whom I "fit", snuggling into them like a warm blanket. Somewhere in my head I am also shedding all of the things that no longer fit me, kicking them unceremoniously out of this bubble I'm creating. Out goes the pain caused from others, the wrongs and hurts, the baggage I've collected like a hated, yet favored childish sack of broken toys.

There is no room in this "new" life for broken things, which is not to say that the experiences they've given me aren't useful. I can't imagine even being able to make forward progress without them and the scars they've given me. The crooner from my i-pod sings of lost love, new possibilities, and adventures not yet "done" while the parking lot at my destination comes into view. Inside that old building before me will be another day filled with fresh opportunity and if I'm paying attention, I'll be fortunate enough to participate in helping to open those doors. In the process, I will open doors of my own. My days may frequently be routine, but the routine I've chosen is rarely random and that suits me just fine. And on this 2nd day of March, as children far and wide celebrate the birthday of the beloved Dr. Seuss, I remember that the most important life lessons I've learned are splashed in wild, bold colors all over his books. One of my favorites embodies the spirit of this journey I'm on..."Be who you are and say what you feel because those who mind don't matter, and those who matter don't mind."

I promise I won't stay gone so long next time.

Love,
A.