A year ago this morning, I woke up early, drove to MSU and gave a guest lecture.
A year ago today, I golfed in the late morning with my buddy.
A year ago today, we ate late lunch pizza and joked about nearly everything.
A year ago today, in the early evening hours, my family’s world got sucked into an insane parallel universe where 40% of my body was infested with leukemia and the future, suddenly, had no up or down.
We dealt. We relied on the kindness of strangers. We somehow found down first, then up. So many incredible people showed up and did the most incredible and simple things. As I drank chemo for breakfast, then a healthy bone marrow lunch, we saw the black hole shrink and the white whole expand.
I invited the mystical and spiritual in for a party. God and Buddha danced with Mohammed and Jesus. Mother Mary smiled off in the corner as even Shiva showed up. White light, army flame throwers and cute, tiny blue bubbles went to work.
Daughters dove and acted, performed and scored. Family ate surprise dinners left on our porch. Sometimes we faked it and maked it. We even dared to travel. Sure, a setback here and there, but the only thing we didn’t mourn the lack of was leukemia. Gone. Probably for good. Or evil.
Today — as I was fixing my daughter’s breakfasts and packing their lunches — Taylor said, “Hey, happy one year.” It’s not written on a calendar, nor had we discussed the date, but it was stamped somewhere on her mental album of last year.
Today, I received a phone call. A bone marrow symposium this fall in Atlanta loves my t-shirt design and say, would I mind being flown down to photograph their event and do some video montages of the weekend?
There’s pizza in my future today.
Happy today.