Anne and I pass the pad of paper back and forth, pausing between our writing to sometimes collect our thoughts, sometimes take a breather, sometimes forget to respond until there is a spark that sends us scribbling and sending it the other way. The pad of paper floats over the ocean between us, through wires and time zones and need, a raft for one of us to sit upon while the other kicks the water to propel us forward. The raft is well-balanced, the sun not too hot and a long-ago friendship alights again within this new, unfamiliar space.
We keep each other afloat in these uncharted waters of post-cancer living, this space without a map where both of us churn in our different buckets trying to get out of our heads and grapple with our lives. Our needs are different and our fears are different but the touchstones are similar: How do we live our best lives or, how to get back to living having lived through this time? Being smart, sensible, educated women doesn't make the emotions or the fear of a twinge in the kidney any easier. And so we stretch our legs long in the cool, sometimes rocky water of our exploration, sending the paper raft back and forth ferrying empathy, love and comfort.
Twelve months from diagnosis, six months after treatment, five years from now to being clear. Kick, kick, kick.
Love you, Anne.
