I am grateful for the surgeons who aren’t assholes.
I am grateful for Taxol and Carboplatin and painkillers and radiation and CA-125 markers and carrot juice. For clean windows and Tylenol and singing penguins. For poppies and Subway and walks around the neighborhood. For candles finally lit, for losing our expectations. For flat rate boxes and black licorice scotty dogs from Trader Joe’s. For the O-VAX and the Hamster Dance, peach salsa and Seinfeld. For long talks with grandmothers. And mothers. For the friends who ask “how’s your mom?” and for those who don’t, because it’s too much to explain again, anyway. For Skype and Sha Sha, and her friend Kathy, and that high school friend who takes her out to lunch sometimes. For picnic lunches, heirloom tomatoes and flax muffins. For hand sanitizer and urgent care and shopping at Costco in a surgical mask. For e-mails from survivors and free nights and weekends. And I’m grateful for “good” days; really grateful for those. I pray for more days of getting sandwiches and driving to the park and watching clouds fly and wondering if we should buy a kite? I pray for a trip to Cheyenne and for a rodeo somewhere so that she can see me dog a steer. I pray for time.
Protect her during this time of magical thinking.
I am grateful for butterflies.