Dear Me, Back Then
The Shock
You had no idea what was coming. You had pushed off your routine annual mammogram a few months. Then you dragged your feet on the follow-up and thought it could wait. But then you saw a colleague of our usual primary care doctor because you needed a prescription refill; she saw something in your chart and in a calm, insistent voice said: "You need to schedule your follow up. Please do it today." You did, and it saved our life.
Then the phone call came on April 30. Breast cancer. Words that slammed into your chest like a steel door. You cried, you raged, and then you stood back up. You and Sissy had seen what our grandmother endured, so while our diagnosis was a shock, it wasn't a stranger. Thank you for having those conversations with Sissy about what we'd do if cancer ever came for us; they made it easier to accept the diagnosis and prepared us to say without hesitation: We'll fight this with everything we have.
The Grind
During the endless appointments, the needles, the fatigue that hollowed you out, you kept finding small sparks: Joking about your T-Rex arms, watching the Through My Window movies on repeat, dreaming about the new world of deep v-necks you'd now get to rock. These were lifelines.
I was worried you'd sink into depression. But instead you reached for every reframe Becky taught us - reminders that we could acknowledge the pain without camping out in it. Thank you for proving that even fear couldn’t kill our light.
And we didn’t do it alone. To the people who held your hand in waiting rooms, who sent inspirational notes or stuck them to the bathroom mirror, who whispered strength into dark nights — thank you. You were my strength. I carried the fight, but you carried me.
The Mirror
When the scars stared back, you didn't look away. The complications that came later were heavier than the diagnosis itself. I worried you’d feel broken beyond repair. But you let grief sit beside you instead of shoving it out the door. You discovered resilience stitched out of love — ours, and everyone who refused to let us fall.
The Words
And then — the words you weren’t sure you’d ever hear: “No evidence of disease.” You didn’t trust them at first, but you breathed them in anyway. Thank you for daring to believe in a future again.
The Forward
Every scar. Every laugh. Every sleepless night. They stacked into the strength I stand on now.
Thank you, younger me, for getting us here. And thank you to the ones who carried me when I couldn’t stand. Together, we made it. And we’re still moving forward.
Gratitude isn't just reflection - it's fuel. And it's carrying me still.
In grit, grace, and gratitude,
If you’re facing your own steel door right now, write a note to the you who’s carrying it. Start with two words: Thank you.
Reading this on my commute - cannot imagine what these times brought you and your words provide a glimpse of the range of everything you experienced - i know the journey is ongoing and i’m in awe of everything you have had to endure and more.