The body demands attention to that which the mind wishes to ignore. Rashes, tummy rumbles, fatigue and body aches, and too many social commitments. I know these as harbingers of anniversaries that I don’t want to remember.
Upon recognizing the signs, the mind opens and allows the stunned memory to form, the memory that it’s now been four years since on February 17 2012, we learned that Adam had cancer. In his brain. Everywhere.
I’m starting to feel much stronger. I can think critically again, a skill that has eluded me since Adam’s diagnosis. Emotions sit deeper under the skin, probably accounting for my now-infrequent posts. It’s been months since I was wracked with sobs.
The malaise started to settle in around Valentine’s Day and I thought it was about that, though I didn’t feel any of the dread and resentment I have felt in the past on that day. Just something like a low emotional fever. Even after coming across Adam’s iPhone photos, which I’d forgotten were still on the device I now use as a music player only, the images he’d taken of his bathroom counter cluttered with medications, the selfies he’d taken of his craniotomy scar and his head in a fixator before gamma-knife surgery only saddened me, but didn’t tip me off to the anniversary to come.
It wasn’t until my friend, who taught me about the signs mentioned above, talked of her own cancer-discovery anniversary on her blog that it hit me like a club—four years. Four years since our lives became not our lives anymore, but the lives of those whose loved one was taken by cancer.
It’s taken me two days to get this post down. Usually I tick them off in a flash driven by the heat of emotion. On this anniversary I just feel stunned. Like back then.
(I am so sorry that it’s been so long since my last post. WordPress changed something, I have no idea what, and my site simply disappeared for a while. I hope someone is still out there, reading.)