The Tiny Embers Inside

It is odd to think that I will always have these scars, these reminders of the cancer that once was.

Everyone rejoices with you that it is "over," but so much of it never ends. There are always more appointments, more check-ups, more ways you have to heal.

Your body is the most tangible piece of it all. Your muscles have to wake up and your mind has to clear. Your new chest has to settle in and your eyes have to get used to seeing a new and foreign body in the mirror. It is odd to think that this is now me, that I will never look like I did before.

Before. Life will forever now be divided by before and after.

What was.

What now is.

Your mind is the less tangible piece of healing. The exhaustion from the last few months of treatment, the quiet that gives space to realize what has just happened. There is a funny mix of fear and relief, anxiety and peace. There is no more cancer. My goodness there was cancer. But the journey has taken its toll.

I haven't found the guidebook on finding "ok" again, but I have gathered up the pieces- the therapy, the exercise, the people and the trips- and I know I will find my peace again.

Can I let you in on a secret?

My heart was once shattered in a way that made me believe I wouldn't be able to be loved with these scars, with these foreign objects where my flesh once was, with the ups and downs of my emotions and the complicated memories within my mind. 

But I have been wrapped in the warm soft arms of a community that tells me I am strong and I am worthy. I have been gifted the care of a man who sees these scars as marks of bravery and perseverance. All of my fears have been put to rest in the eyes of a farmer who tells me that no matter what changes my body has been through, he thinks I'm the most beautiful person he has ever seen.

And the beauty of my community and my farmer is that when they say these words, I know they mean them. Because they have walked the stormy seas with me. They have held me close when the storm was overwhelming. They have rejoiced in the return of my eyebrows and reassured me in the loss of my hair. They have laughed with me and pushed me forward. They have cheered me on, not when it was easy, but when it was necessary.

Sometimes it is necessary to reteach a thing its loveliness, so the poem says. 

Sometimes it takes time.

When I was hiking with the farmer last weekend he asked if I wanted to keep going or turn around. I was exhausted, as I hadn't hiked this far since before my cancer treatment. I looked at him, weary. So much of me wanted to quit. But instead I stated the facts.

"The tiny embers inside that used to be a fire are telling me to keep going." 

And keep going I will, as my soul and body heal and the embers become the fire they once were. The embers that were kept alive by the ones who never let me believe that they could be doused.