Fight for your right to ... live

8:18 am, Tommy’s birthday is August 18, I awaken from a dream crying. In my dream, Jack, my newly departed 16 year old best friend was sitting on my left hand. I could feel the weight of his body. His soft white fur grazing my hand. It was so white, whiter than it had been when he was a puppy. He was staring at me. Right into my eyes like he was transferring energy or sending a message. His fur was moving ever so slightly. Waving in a gentle breeze. He looked calm. Peaceful. Like he wanted to tell me he that loved me one last time. I didn’t say anything but I didn’t have to. I just cried. Tears streamed down my face. When I awoke I said, “I know buddy. I’m safe now, you brought me home. You did your job. Thank you.” This was my first day in Texas.  

Feel to heal

Peace

Serenity

Calm

Listen

A yellow butterfly lands on my right breast as I lay on a lounge chair by the pool. It is so close that I can see the fur above her eyes and her proboscis moving in and out in synchronized unison. In and out, in and out. Her wings open and close gently. Back and forth in a graceful rhythm. I sync my breathing with the natural eb and flow of her spirit. Open, close, in, out, back and forth. We seem to stare at each other. “Yeah,” I say out loud. “That’s the side that needs healing. Can you feel it?” Open, close, in, out, back and forth. “Thank you. Thank you for reminding me to breathe. Thank you for reminding me that it is healing. That I am healing.” And just as quickly as she approached, she departed.

The only noise here is the silence of the surroundings. The insects and the trees know the right time to start and the right time to stop. It’s a dance. A balance. An eb, a flow. A start, a stop, a pause, a go. Gently. Carefully. 

I walk barefoot around the outskirts of my cabin because it feels right. If I walk too hard or too fast, the ground reminds me to slow down. The rocks remind me to go lightly. 

Go lightly.

Open, close, in and out, back and forth.

Release Danielle. Just be. Feel the peace. Softly. Carefully. Quietly. Internally. Feel to heal.

In the middle of the summer, 4 weeks after I left my husband, 1 week after learning he was in a relationship with another woman, a friend sent me a link to apply for a trip to Dripping Springs Texas, all expenses paid, through an organization called First Descents designated for cancer fighters and survivors. What the hell, I’ll apply, no way I’ll be selected but lord alfucking mighty knows that I could use a break. How old are you? 38 What is your diagnosis? Stage 3 breast cancer. Are you currently receiving chemo? Yes. Do you have children if so how many and what are their ages? Yes, Lilah age 9, Tommy age 6. 

Like I said, no way I’m being selected but okidoki. 

And what the fuck do you know? I WAS SELECTED. 5 days, my own cabin, rock climbing, fresh country air and most importantly people that can commiserate with my condition. Moms that are clutched with concern contemplating that their children might grow up without them. Daughters that can’t process the daunting legitimacy that their parents will be forced to bury their child. And people getting a divorce while fighting for the right to live.

Texas changed me. I might be Boston learned and raised but I ascertained how to live in Texas. I looked inward and saw myself. I saw who I became during my fight and I thanked her.

I learned that I need and needed help. The reality of realizing that I actually needed help and that my mantra of “Oh I’llll be fineeeeee. I’m okkkkkk. I don’t neeeed a lightbulb I’ll just sit here in the mother fucking dark and eventually develop my other senses so I can “see” in pitch blackness” no longer held water. NO. FUCK THAT. NO.

I have, with the help of many other warm souls, dogs, my parents and my children been doing it on my own. My time in Texas forced me to realize that help is critical to survival. Yeah great I have gotten through 40 out of my 42 chemotherapy treatments relatively unscathed but that’s physical. Emotional support is just as, if not more crucial. Without emotional back rubbing you might as well buy your plot and reserve the hall for your celebration of life ceremony cuz you dead bitch. 

I have 2 chemo sessions left until freedom. 40 treatments under my belt and 2 left. A year and a half ago I had a life. Today I know what it means to live it. Let’s fucking go.