It just is

Two weekends ago I headed up to Madison, WI and attended the Midwest Young Adult Cancer Conference.

It was a one-day affair and I had a good time.

I learned a few new things, and connected with some great people. For me, connecting with others was the highlight of the day for me and it's highly probable that I'll attend it again next year.

That said, part of the day was hard fro me.

I was surrounded by people who also had cancer. Who were in my age range. Some of them also parents, some of them not. It's good for me to get time with a wide range of people who are in similar boats as me. It's therapeutic for me.

It's why I try to get out to local Stupid Cancer meetings and YSC meetings.

At the end of the month, I'll be flying to Denver to attend CancerCon as well.

There are too many moments of the day where I feel isolated and different.

At my core, I know that I'm not - I'm surrounded by a fair amount of people who try to understand, who are caring, and sympathetic. It means a lot to me. But it's another thing to talk to someone who knows what things are like verses someone who is just trying to imagine what things are like.

I come home feeling more normal, feeling more okay with things, and with a wee bit of energy.

Except sometimes I don't. Sometimes I walk away and I feel stuck.

And I hate it. It's uncomfortable. It's unpleasant. It's hard to face.

So on Saturday, in the midst of all the goodness of the day, this feeling of stuckness was thrown into the mix as well. Frankly, this wasn't the feeling I was anticipating dealing with.

But I sat in it for a bit. Instead of ignoring it, instead of burying it, instead of just wishing it away, I sat in it.

Turns out, it wasn't actually that bad.

I mean, it's probably not great. But it's not really bad either. It just is.

It just is.

Okay, maybe I'm still working on convincing myself of that. But I think it's worth  convincing myself.

So with all these thoughts flying around my head, the rest of the conference went really well.

At the end of the day we did a little wrap-up activity in which we wrote what we had expected to learn there and what we did learn. After all of that, we were challenged to write some sort of wrap-up in a 7 word poem.

7 words.

I admit I was stumped at first, but it came to me.

Short. Sweet. And it hit the point.
At the last minute, I altered it a bit.
I think it's perfect.
This is what I'm holding onto moving forward.

What comes next?

Chicago at night

What comes next?

I've been thinking about this a lot lately.
I've got one daughter two years away from college. One daughter who is a year away from entering high school (and ending homeschooling). One son who is three years away from making the homeschool-to-public-school switch. This means there should be an eventual return to the work force for me. We're renting a house now. We'd like to buy and soon. We'd like to buy this house. I'm not sure it's in the cards for us financially (see: one child 2 years away from college with a sibling to follow every three years thereafter).

In the next several years, there is going to be a lot of change around here. Not that it's all bad. I love watching my children grow. I love seeing where their paths will take them. While I'll miss my daughter should she go away for college, it will be exciting to see how she picks her school, what she picks to major in. There will be lots of milestones to celebrate, holidays to be together for, birthday parties.

Still. I sit here and wonder what next?

And if I'm being completely honest, the truth is that's what I've been asking myself for the last 5 years.

Cancer. Well, what next?

I still don't know. I still haven't figured it out.

Sometimes I think I'm on the verge of figuring out. Something happens, I feel moved, the excitement blows up like a balloon. But always, always, a pin comes a long, pops that balloon, and I'm left there with lots of uncertainty. Lots of anxiety. Lots of worry. And lots of worrying about what the heck I'm supposed to be doing. Because I just don't know.

I'll tell you something else. I'm really, really, I mean really tired of it all. I'm just tired of it.

How has five years passed and it still feels like just yesterday I was told that I had cancer. Because it just doesn't seem to make sense in my mind.  And this whole time I've been wondering what's next.

You know what I think I realized though? It's not anything about what comes next. I've spent the last 5 years looking for the wrong thing.

It's not about what's next. It's about what's now.

This moment.
Right now.

So I'm trying.
I'm really trying.

It's going to take me time. I wish I could rush and just be where I want to be. So I'm going to try to be patient and, as the cliche goes, take it one day at a time.

And As I Knit ...

And as I knit each stitch for you,

I knit in prayers of happiness and joy
I knit in wishes of a life of lots of laughter
I knit in hopes of goodness and lots of smiles
I knit in hugs and love for the moments you need them, despite hoping you never will
I knit in thoughts that you will have a well-knit community around you.
This is what I knit for you.

As I knit, my anxiety slips off like a stitch being dropped
As I knit, the sadness I carry lightens
As I knit, worries about my health disappear
As I knit, I feel like I've found my place in the world
As I knit, I am filled with joy and happiness as I picture you with the finished product
This is what I knit for me.

I knit for you
I knit for me

As the yarn is joined together, for a moment, so are we
Just for a moment. 

As I knit each stitch for you

Sometimes words are not enough

I can't tell you how many times I have sat down and opened this page.
I've clicked to write a new post.
The blank page pops up waiting for me to type, and nothing comes.

In my head I have plenty to say.
When I sit down, the words all seem to disappear and flit away.

I could tell you about my lymphedema flare-up.
I could tell you about my new (to me) vehicle.
I could tell you how my new (to me vehicle) is broken and the dealer we bought it from won't fix it.
I could tell you I've been getting ocular migraines again.
I could tell you about what I've knit recently.
I could tell you about the new project I'm working on with my daughter.
I could tell you we've had a few warm(er) days and it's been nice.
I could tell you about basketball seasons.
I could tell you about volleyball.
I could tell you about my son's piano recital.
I could tell you about all the things I'm baking.
I could tell you about pain.
I could tell you about anxiety.
I could tell you about gratitude.
I could tell you about fear.
I could tell you about happiness.

And yet, when I sit to tell you any of this, all of this, none of this.
It's all gone.

Honestly, I sometimes wonder if I've used up all the words I had for blogging.
Other times I wonder if I should maybe stop blogging.

How can I blog without words?
How can I find words when the world feels so much bigger than me and my words and my thoughts and my problems and my joys feel so small?

And today I read devastating news from a friend. Her precious daughter passed away. And I sit here heartbroken.

Words just aren't enough.

They just aren't.

Words have the ability to be quite powerful, to be a force to be reckoned with.

But right now, words fail me. They don't say enough for what I want to say.

So I sit silently. In tears. In prayers. Sending love. Sending so much love into this broken world full or heart ache and pain and unfairness.

And I hold on to the good things, the uplifting things, the powerful things.

Because this is life. This is my life.
And all I can do is what I can do.
What I can do changes every day.
So when words aren't enough, I dive into doing.
Doing what I can.

So I'm here. I'm doing. I'm thinking. And I'm trying to find my words. 

Leap Day

It's leap day today.

A day we only get every 4 years ... though if we live long enough (2100) we'll see an 8 year cycle for leap year, which seems strange right? Okay, well, maybe only to me!

None-the-less, we have a bonus day today.

Alas, I will be doing what I do every Monday.

I thought about trying to do something special for today, but there just didn't seem to be anything that struck me as worth doing. And the week in general is a busy one, so February 29 will look like February 28 and March 1.

I know I've been quiet around here lately.

There's so much I want to say, and yet, I have nothing to say.

I've been busy living life.
I've been busy resting.
I've been busy reading.
I've been busy knitting.
I've been busy doing.
I've been busy being.
I've been busy being busy.
I've been busy being lazy.

All of this busyness leaves me exhausted.

Don't get me wrong, life is good. I'm getting things done. There's lots of laughter and smiles. I'm trying new things. It's good.

But I'm so tired. Same old story. I'm trying to manage the exhaustion better - some days I do a better job than others.

So, on this bonus day this year, I'll be doing what I do! And it will be good.