I used to have lots to say.
About lots of things.
I find it easy juggling a multitude of friends, all it takes is being the initiator, but now only occasionally fire off a missive to someone conjured up in my heart.
For the most part though, I silently talk to myself.
Not that there's lots of time for it.
Sarah's never ending schedule also keeps me busy as I try to be helpful, though I usually end up in her way, so I try to not be too much of a hinderance.
Che and I take walks, play in the yard, watch Kids TV cuddled on the sofa. pick every colorful flower she sees, or belt songs from the top of her lungs now that she's mastered ordering Alexia around.
Our 4 year old's also taken to talking to God.
"Make my Daddy better," I heard her say, staring at the Holy Spirit blowing through trees on a marvelous, pristine, warm November's day.
The wind stops for a moment as though the Holy Spirit's absolutely appreciates a little girl's pure love.
I can't talk any way because salt water rolls down my cheeks because, for a moment anyway, I'm vividly aware of all of the time I'm going to miss with our miracle of a daughter.
Energy I used to pour into writing is now reserved for healing.
It's been almost 5 months ago I underwent major surgery and I'm told for every hour of the operation represents one month of recovery meaning, I'm half-way through getting my body back.
It won't be like it was before because there's lot less body parts required to keep me going now because of the Doctor's slicing away every thing that looked bad.
He.almost got it all.
Only a little cancer remains.
Vegas has placed odds on how fast before it grows again.
In the meantime, I'm told to enjoy everything because it could be my last chance.
It takes all my energy to adjust to my new abnormal.
Sarah and I maintain our dream of expatriating to a small, Caribbean island with white sand roads, long leaf Palm Trees with coconuts and aqua, teal blue water but everything about our lives is ... abnormal.
Sarah tries to manage it. Che has no frame of reference because her Daddy's been sick most of her life. Maddie sends a text from College to say she loves me. Laurel makes me laugh with her creative trail blazing use of the "cancer card" to get what she wants. Cassidy jumps up to grab me when I wobble which is part of my new life.
Throw in a pandemic and, well, it's a Hell of a way to live.
I can't imagine going through cancer without them.
At 64, I should be enjoying my later years, traveling, eating fine food, experiencing everything the world has to offer with my best friend and lover. Instead, we've all developed coping mechanisms to minimize all of the bad in our lives while exploiting the Hell out of the good moments.
It's not as bad as it sounds.
It is exhausting though.
Anyway, today we begin celebrating Thanksgiving and the goal is to celebrate everything we've got because, in spite of it all, we have a lot of life's most important things.
We're celebrating the fact we're still here, together against every possible odd, finding life to love instead of waiting on things to get better.
I live every day trying to appreciate every moment as though it were a party.
After all, I'm surrounded by the people I'd love to party with most of all!
So that's the plan!
We're not just going to enjoy Thanksgiving.
We're going to live it like there's no tomorrow.
