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Sunday, April 18, 2010

Weightlessness

This coming week marks my one year anniversary of being "done" with treatment. There seems to be a lot of "anniversaries" with this cancer thing. Or this life thing. Like when you meet someone you remember the day you first kissed. The day you first held hands. The first day of it all. I guess that is what life is about, at least for me. I like to mark special things that happen in my life. Cancer to me, was a special time in my life. It created me, for who I am, today. I cannot help but want to celebrate, and create rituals for myself to mark these moments.
The 22nd of April 2009, I was done. The 21st of April, 2009 my dear friend Jenn said goodbye to her sister Jen, as she had fought this fight for years. Triumphantly, I will add. I signed up to walk the Susan B. Komen 3Day in Arizona this November with the team that she and her husband Greg started, Team Thrivr.
I have put this off, knowing full well that I wanted to walk, and that I would be walking, and sharing a tent with Jenn (I am sooo looking forward to this). I have not been "strong" enough to bring myself to do that. I mean, to sign up, for a walk that I never truly cared about. In all honesty. I mean, I cared before cancer. I did. But in a, "that's not me, and I'll find another way to give back to society," kind of way. Like, maybe I'd tutor young kids, or something. That, was another lifetime ago.
This past week, I spent a moment with a friend whose been fighting for her life for years. Bravely, fighting. Fighting perhaps longer and with more vigilance than I may... This was the first time, (I realized this as I was at my cancer therapy appointment this week), that I was able to be present and not "make it about me." I realized that so often in life we connect with peoples lives or feelings or thoughts, through our lenses, through our experiences, through our hearts. I was able to do this deeply, but it did not cause me to freak out and start worrying about my cancer. My trip. I feel safe. I feel like I made it across home base, and the umpire is yelling, "SAAAFFEE!!!" I think, I am safe. Safe enough, that I am able to put myself aside, and hold a dear sister, and let her cry. I can cry, because I understand her pain. I do. Fully, understand. I realized that this week as well, another blessing to come out of this. As a healer, I am ready to start being of comfort in a like minded, fully-understandable way. In a strong, safe, sound, and integrated way of giving back.
So, I for months now, since my girls trip to Sayulita, Jenn has been holding off on sending me her sister Jen's blog postings..Her journey. I simply could not go there. As I was not even close to being there.
I signed up, yesterday for the 3Day and asked for some of them. The ones on her being a marathoner, and her running, and her cancer journey. Her freakin' incredible life, that was lived, so lived, so loved. She had, and still has an amazing husband. He was with her, as her teammate unlike I have known, in such a beautiful way. I cannot wait to meet him, this year. Even though Jen Hoffman has passed on, her legacy continues. I am so incredibly honoured to be joining such a family, a team that as my friend Jenn says, "is running 40 deep this year."

I have started the beginning leg of my marathon journey. I left Seattle this morning, and am at new friend's house in Reno. Overlooking sage, beautiful rolling hills, turkey vultures flying, and am slowly starting to paint my face, with war paint.
This marathon, is my time that I have ritually over months and months of training, breathed all of the pain, all of the anguish, all of the beauty that this journey has brought and taught me...I breathed all of that into each and every run. I am ready to pick this breath up, and run with her, with the Spirits of those that have gone before me, from this disease. All the ones that were not ready to go, but did. And run for them, and run for me, and celebrate being here. In this vessel. This body, that really does not matter. But matter, to all that love me, it does.
I guess that is the pain in death. It is letting that love that connection, that breath go. To the Hoffman/Glickman family. Thank You for bringing me into your fold.

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