Remission Anniversary #12

This is me during the Providence Bridge Pedal of 2003. I cried when I discovered I wasn't strong enough do the longer route that I wanted to take towards the Sellwood Bridge and had to remind myself how wonderful it was that I could do it at all. Both truths were real. I wasn't strong enough to make it to Sellwood AND I did the Providence Bridge Pedal even while undergoing chemo.

This first paragraph is what I will post on Facebook today:

Today marks my 12th year free from cancer. I celebrate today not only to be cancer-free, but also to have experienced cancer. I'm grateful that the lymphoma was eradicated from my body, but am also grateful for the deep teachings it brought me about my own strength and about surrender. While I no longer think daily of my status as a survivor, I do daily face the question of what I'm able to do and what my limitations are. Every day we are all given an infinite number of opportunities to be thankful and the choice to be compassionate towards ourselves. I think the gift of cancer has somehow helped me look at this a little more seriously than if I hadn't had it.

This second paragraph is just for the blog:

I write this now knowing that yesterday a colleague's mother died from the same disease. I was uncertain at first how to handle that. Should I celebrate in the way that I'd planned, bringing a platter of food to school to celebrate? Would doing so be callous, I celebrate life while someone else mourns? It reminds me of when I first learned that I would survive my cancer, but felt so sorry, and some guilt, that my sister-in-law, Denise, did not.

As I turn off the deliberate thinking and go deep with this, I realize that the deep spiritual work is just in holding all of this truths together. I lived.  Another died. There is suffering. There is beauty. There is.