Cancaversary VII

There's a lot of guilt around my celebration of my cancaversary this year.  So much so, I spent a couple of weeks ignoring its appearance on the calendar.

I keep telling myself there are no answers to the Why?s, but the questions keep popping up anyways.

Seven years ago, I started treatment.
A year after that, I was healed (minus a few body parts) except for the after-effects of that damn shot.
Two years later, I was back to 95% of normal; as good as I'm going to get as long as I continue on Tamoxifen.  But given the trade-offs, I'll take it.
I'm sure my cancer will come back one day, but near as I can tell, that day has not yet arrived.

When Libby found her cancer, in the fall of 2017, she called me.  She was impatient with this interruption to her life; wanted to know how long she was going to be inconvenienced by the treatment.  She, of course, knew my story and the timeline of my illness; I still remember her saying, "A year, then?  I can cope with a year of this."

Yeah, Lib.  Sadly you were right. You did a great job of coping, and just over a year later, you no longer needed to worry about gritting your teeth to make it through the latest round of treatments.
*she types through her tears*

Why her and not me?
If she had to get cancer, why couldn't it have been the kind I got - the kind they're really good at making go away for a decade or two?
Why am I still here, and she gone?

Her birthday was at the beginning of February; she would have been 52.  Her life was just five years longer than Mom's; her daughters close to the age I was when Mom died.  The parallels cut too close to home - the tears keep coming; the edges of my grief are sharp.

I bring out my hard-earned coping skills.
I let the tears fall for a bit, then remind myself of my vow to not let the thought of the days she wasn't given ruin the days I have.  We talked about this - she made me promise.

Cancer doesn't win because she died; none of us are guaranteed tomorrow.
I've survived seven years past my diagnosis - something to celebrate!

There is beauty in every today.
Today, I find beauty in my tears, anyways, because they're a reflection of the depth of my love for my youngest sister.  They are a reminder of the precious hours of my own life - because I am still here to cry, it means I haven't yet reached the end of my own road.

Here's to finding out what's around the next bend.
Happy Cancaversary to me!