Remission Anniversary #17

Life during COVID starts to feel routine: the mask wearing, smearing of purell of cracking hands, obsession and tension of listening to the news. I never thought I'd adjust to returning to school, but we're doing it.

There are times, though, when it feels like the earth has cracked open beneath my feet. 

My dad had surgery on Monday. It was necessary because of the radiation he 22 years ago when he had cancer. It saved his life, but eventually wore down his heart. So this week they opened up his heart to fix it. 

He survived.

And 17 years ago today was the day my doctor said I was in remission from cancer. 

I had survived.

Most of the time, we just live out our routines, with or without drama. This week is different for me. I'm getting up in the morning, teaching, going home, but I feel like I do it while balancing on a tightrope over a canyon that somehow wasn't opened before. 

Opening up. A canyon. A heart. 

Holding onto a rope.