I don't take for granted that I am alive. I am fully aware of it, consciously grateful for it, continually amazed by it. Before I was confronted with breast cancer, I still knew I could die -- in a car accident maybe -- but I thought chances were pretty good that I would make it to a ripe old age. Death was never at the forefront of my mind. I had no reason to believe that life could be snatched from me. And because of this, I am sure some pretty important moments slipped by me, virtually unnoticed. But now -- after a breast cancer diagnosis, surgery, chemotherapy, radiation therapy, and then more therapy, I realize life is not a guarantee for anyone. Me included. Even at age 36, I am not safe. I feel confident about my future -- and I believe cancer has left my body -- but my life has been threatened like never before. And that makes me wake up and take notice -- really notice -- the moments that are too important to take for granted. My first baby boy starts kindergarten today. Before cancer, this still would have been a monumental day for us both. But now, after cancer, it's even bigger. Because I know of several moms who did not survive cancer long enough to see their children walk through their first classroom doors -- moms who thought, like me, that they would surely beat cancer and would see their kids off for every first day of school. So I am lucky to have made it to this day -- to witness the wonder of my sweet, shy, sensitive, challenging, demanding, loving boy as he leaves the comfort of home for the real world.
Two days ago, my littlest guy said, "Mommy, I love you and want to keep you forever." Joey -- the boy whose wisdom should guide him right through his first day of school -- said, "Danny, you can't have mommy forever. One day she will die, and you will never see her again." Fortunately, his harsh meaning was lost on three-year-old Danny who kept playing with whatever toy was occupying him at the time. But his meaning was not lost on me. He spoke the truth. And so I plan to soak up the kindergarten moment this morning -- and photograph it and write about it and cherish it for my days to come. And in two years, I hope to do it again with Danny as he starts off on the same path. With me by his side.
In the past year, I have had three severe skin reactions characterized by red, itchy, burning bumps that start on my chest and without fail climb over my shoulders and onto my back. They last for a few weeks, are irritated by the Florida heat, and have had no known cause -- until today when I visited my dermatologist for a skin cancer screening and briefed her on this bizarre condition that has kept me away from sunscreen and out of the swimming pool and in hiding from the sun. I have suspected that sunscreen, chlorine, the sun -- or some combination of the three -- have been my potential irritants. So I've been avoiding them altogether. But I learned today that the sunscreen and the chlorine are not to blame. That leaves the sun, which is the most likely culprit -- and only because I have received chemotherapy with one very toxic drug. Adriamycin.
There are all sorts of gifts for dad on Father's Day -- shirts and ties and books and coffee mugs and golf balls -- and many of us have already spent money on the stuff we can wrap up and deliver or mail off to dad on this special day. But some gifts -- the ones we can't wrap up -- have an appeal that is priceless because they focus on the moment, they build relationships, and they promote mental and physical health. And here are just seven simple but everlasting gifts to consider sharing with dad on this Father's Day.
