Round 16 & The New Year

I have been struggling to write this post. 

How do I update you all with accuracy, precision, and joy? It has been over a month since my last update, and since then we have experienced multiple holidays, a pregnancy announcement (yes yes it's me who is pregnant- YAY), there have been wonderful moments shared and there have been scary "Why God?" moments.

We have sang Happy Birthday to Jesus, celebrated healthy sonograms, we have seen family and friends, we have visited the ER (her gallbladder did not need to come out!), we have made N/A cocktails, we have watched the Huskies make it to The National Title, we even rang in a New Year (at 1030pm!). 

2024. We enter this year prayerfully, and with one single priority. Health. 

This year, the only resolution on our mind is celebrating the air in our lungs, the laughter with one another, being present, and honoring every emotion that may wash through us (at really inconvenient times I may add). The overwhelm that comes with planning for a year that is filled of unknowns can be crippling (especially for a type A planner such as myself), but here we are. We are continuing to have coffee with friends, buy tickets to the Lion King, and have slow mornings at home with a cup of coffee and our sweet Bozey Kitty. 

Choosing joy this month looks like choosing to be present with one another. To not sweat the small things, and to continue living our life with a sense of peace and trust in God. 

Next Wednesday, my mom will be returning to work as an Angel in an Alaska Air CSA uniform. This is good. This is exciting. This is joy. 

Each night, after a day of good, hard work, I call my mom. As I cross the 205 bridge, windshield wipers at full force, my mom shares about all that needs to get done prior to going back to work. "I need to press my uniforms, and make sure they are ready" she tells me with a childlike joy. 

She has completed her 16th round of chemo as of today. Sixteen. Ten plus six. Four months into treatment. What an absolute warrior. Her gut is "out of whack", (a side effect of these harsh chemicals) and she is beginning to experience neuropathy in her fingers. Somehow she is still sunshiny and making lunch for me (I promise I offer, but she insists).  

Experiencing a loved one who is navigating a chronic illness, is a marathon not a sprint. Except in this marathon, you do not get the privilege of preparation, and time to train. You do not get to study the course, or scout where the hills are and prepare for the hardest part of the course. In this marathon no one is advising you on the best equipment to use. This marathon demands that you use the tools you already have. This marathon will force you to a walking pace, to catch your breath to continue moving forward. In this marathon, no one quite knows where the finish line is. 

So, I thank you from the deepest part of my heart for walking along side us as we run this, and continuing to hold signs and scream our names in support.

Cheers to a happy and HEALTHY 2024.