That was forty years ago today. I have no idea where the time has gone but I can still feel the butterflies racing around inside me as I waited to walk down that aisle. At the time, it was the second longest aisle in the city. I wasn’t nervous at all about the marriage part, only that this elaborate celebration would go smoothly.
“Find your joy,” they say, “You have to stop worrying.”
Good advice, but how exactly does one do that? What brings joy to one person might aggravate the hell out of another.
Some folks find peace in yoga or meditation. Some prefer long walks, or the opposite, running. Some knit, scrapbook or binge watch Netflix. Many find cooking therapeutic, something I’ll never understand, though I fully appreciate the products of their labors!
There are countless ways for one to disconnect from his or her stressful world.
Maybe I come off as strong and optimistic, but truth be told, I’m neither.
I’ve spent recent weeks in a major funk, obsessed with the possibility of a recurrence.
Sometimes I feel that way, though I don’t think I have any right to.
My cancer was diagnosed in the early stages. I had ample insurance coverage and medical care. I was and continue to be blessed with loving, supportive family.
Whether it’s a blessing or not, I have a fighting spirit.
But if the tables were turned, if the disease had spread, if I couldn’t afford that medical team, would I feel the same? Would I still want to fight?
A long time ago, there lived a charming lady who lovingly tended her garden in the city.